


Where we belong

by aquileaofthelonelymountain



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: An Unexpected Anniversary, An Unexpected Anniversary 2016, Both POVs, Domestic Fluff, Everybody Lives, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, and even more fluff, bagginshield, oblivious idiots in love, post botfa au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6664186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquileaofthelonelymountain/pseuds/aquileaofthelonelymountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is it that unexpected visitors always appear on 26th April, and on 26th April only?</p><p>Bilbo is more than slightly surprised when Thorin shows up at his door on 26th April and intends to stay for a couple of days to celebrate the anniversary of the unexpected party.</p><p>My contribution to the Unexpected Anniversary 2016. What could have been better than celebrating this day? Right: Celebrating a whole week! Therefore, this fanfiction consists of 8 chapters, and updates have been daily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On 26th April, and on 26th April only

There was always a certain tranquillity about the Shire.

It was like a part of the country itself – the pleasant green hills, the mumbling rivulets and clear ponds, the shady trees that were perfect for an after-lunch nap or other forms of sweet idleness …

The inhabitants were much like their country. Sure, all hobbits had their daily chores, and there could be some hustle and bustle and noise, especially at the Green Dragon Inn. However, it never was a real rush, but a moderate haste, the kind you could laugh about later on.

At some times of the day, even this slow-paced bustle came almost to a dead stop. This happened mostly at meal times when the hobbits retreated into their kitchens and pantries and dining-rooms to enjoy something that was very important to them: food. At this times, smoke rose from the chimneys, the air was filled with delicious smells, and the hobbits were simply enjoying themselves.

It was lunchtime, and Mr Baggins of Bag End, a formerly very respectable hobbit, didn’t feel very hobbit-like at all. He sat at his kitchen table, an almost full bowl of soup in front of him, and picked at his food. He didn’t have much appetite which was quite unusual for a hobbit, even alarming. Bilbo hadn’t put much effort into cooking either, only chopped some vegetables and put them into a pot, not paying much attention to seasoning or anything like that. What he had been doing was rather a façade – a respectable hobbit had to take his breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies, lunch, afternoon tea, supper, and dinner seriously. That’s what hobbits had always done and what they would continue to do, no matter what. Not even the return of the king could stop them from this beloved custom.

Bilbo nibbled at a chunk of vegetable before finally deciding that this would lead to no good. He suppressed a deep sigh, although there was nobody here who could ask him why he had sighed at all. But he had got accustomed to control himself – there had been more than one disapproving glance from neighbours and acquaintances at his behaviour. It was easier to suppress a sigh than to overhear the whisperings about how strange Mr Baggins was acting _again_.

He started to clean up the kitchen half-heartedly. There were other chores waiting for him: he should go to the market, the garden demanded his attention, and some dusting was overdue. However, he didn’t feel like going to the market at all. Even a short walk would lead to some polite chatting, and that would in turn lead to him saying or doing something that was considered inappropriate among hobbits. He could do without startled expressions, exchanged glances and forced smiles. _Poor Mr Baggins_ , they seemed to say. _He used to be the most respectable hobbit one could wish for, you know, and now he’s acting so strange … Running off into the blue with wizards and dwarves hasn’t done him any good, as anyone could have told him … Wizards and dwarves, can you believe it? How … how utterly unrespectable!_

Bilbo started wandering aimlessly through the halls of Bag End. His home was big – he had thought of Bag End often during his long journey, but in his memory it had been … somehow smaller. Not that vast. Dining-rooms, bed-rooms, parlours, pantries, wardrobes, sitting-rooms with cosy armchairs …

_Go back to your armchair …_

Like so often, he ended up in his study. His writing desk was covered with papers: single sheets, thick bundles, scraps, pencil or coal sketches, densely written lines of ink, quick impressions. There was also some space, however, that wasn’t crowded with papers. Instead, there rested a book, bound in red leather, the pages still blank. Sunlight came in through the window and illuminated it. It seemed very … inviting.

_Maybe I should start writing today_ , Bilbo thought as his gaze wandered over the writing desk. Everything was there: the red book, his notes from the journey, quill and ink pot. It would be a good day to start his book. After all, it was …

_Go back to your books …_

The deep sigh finally found its way out of Bilbo’s chest as he turned away from the writing desk. It was pointless. He had not begun writing at the dozen times he had already intended to do so, and he would not start today, nor tomorrow.

_Then some gardening, perhaps_ , Bilbo thought. _I don’t feel like staying inside, either. Maybe some gardening will do me good. The sun is shining, and at least it will get me out of these gloomy mood –_

He almost stumbled at this thought. _Gloomy. Am I really considering myself as gloomy?_ He was sure he wouldn’t like the answer if he tried to think about it any longer, so he hurried outside.

Grass under his knees, soil under his fingers, sunshine on his back. Bilbo had always liked gardening in spring. It felt like a new beginning: getting rid of rambling weeds, loosening the soil, preparing it for the seeds … Last year he hadn’t been at Bag End yet to do this work, and in the year before he had prepared everything in spring, but at harvest time he had been … well, not there.

Being here felt right. Finally something that felt right again.

_Plant your trees …_

Bilbo shook his head, determined not to be distracted by anything. It was time to focus on work. And working he did: He spent the afternoon moving from one patch to another, armed with rake and garden shears, breaking up patches, trimming hedges, repotting plants, watering flowers, and, and, and …

The sun was already setting when he decided that it was enough for one day. He was exhausted, covered with sweat and dirt. _Not very respectable, I guess_. Bilbo stood up and straightened his back when he heard the sound of children’s laughter on the road nearby. Suddenly, he felt an almost painful longing in his chest – one that he had wished to forget over his gardening.

_I wonder how Fili and Kili are doing_ , he pondered, just to shake his head at once. _You are a fool, Bilbo Baggins – thinking of Fili and Kili when you hear children’s laughter! They may be young dwarves, but they are older than you!_

But still … 

The innocent laughter – it was already gone – reminded him of so many things he had tried to push aside. He _did_ wonder what Fili and Kili were doing. After all they were princes – not only in title any longer, but real princes, heirs to a great kingdom. If they were up to mischief nonetheless? Thinking of family: Gloin’s wife and his son Gimli would probably have arrived at Erebor, as well as Bombur’s family. The vast halls would be filled with chatter and laughter, finally becoming a home again after so many years full of darkness and dragon-fire. Bilbo imagined that the news of the success in reclaiming Erebor had spread quickly. There would be many dwarves who wanted to start a new life there. Hopefully there were some young warriors amongst them that Dwalin could train. The born warrior he was, he would probably go crazy if he couldn’t use his axe from time to time. He would be a tough instructor, Bilbo thought, but he would build up the best warriors the king could wish for. Balin by contrast would be happy working quietly in the libraries, together with Ori and Oin. Dori would be most likely trying to keep Nori out of trouble (or at least out of stuff that he himself considered trouble). Bofur and Bifur, he was convinced, would be in Dale often, entertaining the children with their toys and music. And Thorin …? Well, he was King under the Mountain. He would organize the rebuilding of Erebor, meet with ambassadors (argue and shout with them, if they were elves), and … doing king’s business.

If anyone of them thought of him sometimes?

Bilbo let out a shaky breath. He knew that his hard-won composure crumbled. He sat down on the grass and closed his eyes. That wasn’t a good idea, for he saw the faces of the dwarves who had been his companions for such a long time very clearly. Worse: He remembered their faces when he had bid them his farewell.

 

_They are all there, all thirteen of them, at the front gate of Erebor, good wishes and sad smiles on their lips._

_“Safe journey, Mr Boggins.” Kili is the first to speak, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. His brother shakes his head, but smiles at Bilbo and bows low as he has done at their arrival at Bag End. They all do, some silently, some with a little comment._

_“Think of me when you look at that strange cloth with the holes in it.” Bofur, an endless source of enjoyment during this journey. The way home will be long without his high spirits._

_“I’ve got a handkerchief for you … You may need it.” Ori, still timid, but with a smile on his face nonetheless._

_“A handkerchief? You’re not one of the gentle folk anymore”, Dwalin states proudly._

_“Maybe not a warrior”, Balin adds, “but a dwarrow-friend. Safe journey, Bilbo.”_

_The last to step forward and speak is Thorin. After the Battle of the Five Armies, he was rather reluctant to even come near Bilbo, still feeling ashamed and remorseful for what happened between them while he was under the influence of dragon-sickness. Bilbo assured him at least a dozen times that everything was fine and that there was no need for any more apologies. The few words exchanged on Ravenhill, when both of them thought that every single one could be the last, needed no further explanation. Thus Thorin relaxed notably in Bilbo’s presence, and they began to spend the evenings together in one of the many halls of Erebor, sometimes smoking their pipes in silence, but more often talking – about their journey, the rebuilding of Erebor, and, finally, the Shire and Bilbo’s return there._

_Bilbo never thought of anything else than going home, it was always there and back again for him. And Thorin does not question his longing to return to Bag End once. He perfectly knows what it means to wish for one’s home._

_“Farewell, Bilbo”, he simply says. And yet … At the same time there is a look in his eyes as if he wants to tell Bilbo something – many things – anything more. But he remains silent, and the farewell is the last thing said between them._

 

_I miss them._

He had known it, he had felt it for a long time, but he had never really admitted it to himself. Bag End was still the most comfortable hobbit hole one could imagine. But the chairs, the dishcloths, plates, carpets, dowry chests felt so … meaningless. It didn’t matter if one of his mother’s plates had a crack or not, if somebody actually sat in grandfather Mungo’s chair or not, or if somebody was cleaning his hands with a doily. In fact, Bilbo would have been rather amused by such a thing. Gandalf had been right. He wasn’t the same hobbit that had left Bag End without a handkerchief.

Bilbo ran a dirty hand over his face. _I miss them so much. Balin and Dwalin, Oin and Gloin, Fili and Kili, Bifur, Bofur and Bombur, Nori, Dori and Ori, and_ , he swallowed, _and Thorin._

Thinking of his companions hurt, but thinking of Thorin … For some reason, it hurt almost physically. His eyes when he had bid him farewell … He wished – longed – to be with Thorin, to see his face, to talk to him, to … to … _Tell him what he means to me. That I … I …_

With a deep breath, he straightened himself. “Don’t be a fool, Bilbo Baggins”, he muttered while he got up. “You’re a hobbit. A strange hobbit to Shire standards, but a hobbit after all. What would you do in Erebor anyway?”

There was nothing to be done. He couldn’t just leave the Shire and head for the Lonely Mountain, whatever he might hope for. There was no evidence that Thorin had wanted to tell him something more. Leaving his friends had been emotional for Bilbo, he hadn’t been able to keep a clear head and had probably just imagined things.

He wanted to go inside, but stopped on his way to kneel down and pick some flowers. Maybe their sight inside of Bag End would cheer him up a bit.

When he had collected a bundle of primroses, forget-me-nots and violets in his arms, he got startled by a sudden voice.

“Being busy in your garden, Master Baggins? Well, it is no surprise you don’t answer to my knocking when you’re hiding out here.”

That voice …

Bilbo almost dropped the flowers. He stood up, squinting at this unexpected visitor. It was almost dark, but there was no way he could ever mistake him.

“Thorin?”, he croaked as he leaped up to his feet.

“At your service”, the dwarf answered wryly while performing a perfect bow. “I am sorry I am late. I meant to arrive at tea-time, but … I, ahem, lost my way.” He smiled; it would have looked apologetically, were it not for the spark of mischief in his eyes. “But only once.” He looked at the hobbit. Bilbo was just too aware of what he must look like: covered in sweat and dirt, holding a bunch of flowers and with a completely baffled expression on his face. Maybe the fading light lessened the absurdity of his looks a bit.

After a few moments of silence Thorin asked: “You didn’t expect me, did you?”

“Expect you?” He squinted. “I didn’t – Why should – I wouldn’t run around like this if I –“ Bilbo took a deep breath. “Should I have been expecting you, Thorin?”

“I thought you did.” The look on Thorin’s face told Bilbo that this wasn’t some joke; the dwarf looked perfectly serious, even a bit astonished. “What has happened to your admiration of books, maps and calendars? What is more, I thought hobbits were very fond of feasts. Family meetings, birthdays … or anniversaries.” He coughed slightly. “Anniversaries are very important to us dwarves, especially when they are connected with our own history. And that’s why I’m here. Today, two years ago –“

“The unexpected party”!, Bilbo blundered out. “It’s the 26th April.”

Thorin’s face brightened. “So you _do_ remember!”

“Of course I do.” The hobbit waved his bundle of flowers at him, directing him to the front door of Bag End. “Though I’d never imagined – Never mind. Let’s go inside first. I’m a horrible host, letting you stand out here …” He shook his head while shooing the dwarf inside. _What is it that unexpected visitors always appear on 26 th April, and on 26th April only?_

A smile appeared on his face nonetheless.

 

________________________________

 

Bilbo offered Thorin a place in an armchair in the parlour, a cup of tea and some biscuits to go through the formalities of hospitality before he excused himself. He almost fled to the bathroom to make himself a bit more presentable. The water in the washing bowl was rather cold, but it didn’t help in cooling his face – not in the slightest.

The one moment he sat in his garden, all alone and lost in memories, and in the next he was faced with them in the person of no one less than the King under the Mountain himself! Not to mention that Bilbo looked like some … some shabby … whatever. He was too upset to even take a single clear thought.

Face still wet from the water, Bilbo took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. He could not face Thorin in the emotional state of a senseless tween! Although he felt like one.

Shooing this discouraging thoughts aside, he hurried to the wardrobe to change his dirty clothes. _Stay reasonable_ , he reminded himself while grasping a clean shirt. _You are not a tween anymore. You can stay calm, even with a kingly guest like Thorin. You are friends after all, don’t forget that._ There was something about that thought that gave Bilbo security. He could handle that. Thorin was his friend, and there was no reason why they shouldn’t be able to sit together and have a nice talk. No reason at all.

Filled with new confidence, Bilbo entered the parlour – just to find his resolution crumbling.

There was no denying that Thorin looked … dashing. He had obviously been on the road, but his clothes didn’t look worn, and there was no dirt on his face – compared with Bilbo’s gardening outfit, he was a perfect example of neatness. Candle light illuminated his face and made his eyes shine. There was a scar on his forehead – a memento of Ravenhill – that added to the dwarf’s temerity.

When he heard that Bilbo had entered the parlour, he looked up and smiled. He had been twisting one of the forget-me-nots from Bilbo’s garden between his fingers. The hobbit felt a warm tingle in the belly.

_Not a tween anymore, eh?_

Bilbo tried to focus on something else – anything but that irritating smile! His eyes caught the empty tea cup.

“Would you like another cup?”, he asked politely, concentrating on his responsibilities as a host.

“No thank y-“

“But I guess you have been travelling the whole day, haven’t you? You must be hungry. I’m afraid my pantry is not what it used to be just right now, but there is some soup left from lunch. I could warm it over if you –“

To Bilbo’s astonishment, his flood of words was interrupted by Thorin’s low chuckle.

“It is a very odd fate that I should never get to know the hobbit cuisine! Instead, I always get fobbed off with soup.” He made a reassuring gesture as he recognized Bilbo’s bewilderment. “Don’t worry about me, Bilbo. In fact, soup sounds very good to me.”

“Ahem … Okay. I will see to it. It won’t take long.” Bilbo turned on his heel when Thorin’s voice called him back again.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“Ahem …” Stammering seemed to become a habit. He cleared his throat. “Sure, sure. There is a nice place at the kitchen table … But you will not lift a finger – you are my guest after all!” He restrained himself – instead of dashing off into the kitchen, he waited for Thorin to get up and follow him. Remembering his duties as a host, he took the empty tea cup from the dwarf’s hands. He felt the tingle in his belly again as their hands brushed each other – and their closeness, their closeness! – , but he withdrew them quickly and hurried into the kitchen.

While he busied himself with the pot of soup, Bilbo felt as if Thorin’s gaze was following all his movements. Due to this he almost dropped the pot … and the bowls … _and_ the spoons. But eventually the soup was simmering, some slices of bread were cut, and all looked quite well.

“How are you, Bilbo?”

The question came unexpected. Bilbo turned from the stove to look at the dwarf. “Well”, he managed a laugh, “for a hobbit who receives an unexpected guest _again_ I feel quite good.”

Thorin frowned. “So you really didn’t expect me?”

“No, I didn’t!” Bilbo’s voice was a bit louder than he had intended. “Don’t get me wrong, Thorin: I know what day it is, and I’ve thought of you … and your company. But expecting you? Of course not! I mean, you are King under the Mountain! Shouldn’t you … reign or something like that?” He coughed slightly and turned to ladle the soup into the bowls. “But I am glad about your visit, Thorin”, he said as he put their supper onto the table. “Honestly.”

There it was again, that little smile. It appeared on Thorin’s face so casually. Bilbo knew that he had an appealing smile, but he hadn’t shown it as often as he did now. It made him look relaxed and … _Blasted tween thoughts._ Bilbo lowered his head to focus on the soup.

If Thorin tasted that their supper wasn’t as good as a hobbit’s cooking should be, he didn’t show it. He ate some spoons full before he started the conversation.

“To be honest, Bilbo, I did not leave Erebor just to visit you. I have been to the Ered Luin to see my kin before. Some of them have left for Erebor, but it is only a small number. They have heard of our success and of the rebuilding, but they are sceptical if they should already dare this journey. Especially the women have their doubts, among them my own sister.”

Bilbo smiled. “Stubborn as ever, you dwarves, eh?”

“You have never met one of our women, Bilbo.” Thorin returned the smile. “They are cautious and only go on journeys if it is inevitable. They wouldn’t leave a safe settlement for mere rumours of how glorious a re-won kingdom should be, even if it is Erebor itself. But they definitely listened to the King under the Mountain.”

“So you came to convince them that Erebor is a safe haven now and they should go there? A noble purpose, but nonetheless a rather long journey.”

Thorin took a piece of bread to wipe his bowl. “It is, but travelling has become much easier, now that there are hardly any orcs left in the Misty Mountains. Though I must admit that I avoided the road through Mirkwood … It is also comfortable if you don’t lose your ponies and supplies as often as we did on our journey.”

“And …” Bilbo hesitated, but he had to ask nonetheless. “You are on your way home to Erebor now?”

“More or less.” The dwarf nodded approvingly, pointing to his empty bowl. “Thank you, it was delicious.” A praise for a meal would flatter every hobbit, but Bilbo felt a growing impatience – More or less? What did that mean? – and only nodded shortly.

“I planned my journey to the Ered Luin so that I could also visit you on this anniversary”, Thorin finally explained. “If you don’t mind, I would like to stay for some days. I thought you could show me the Shire. If you like, of course.“

“You are welcome to stay as long as you want”, Bilbo answered seriously. “As long as Erebor can go without you …”

“They should do fine without me for a while. I settled the most important decisions concerning the further rebuilding, the relations with Dale and things like that. I left Fili in charge, and Kili as his agent. They are my heirs after all, and some practice will do them good. And if any problems should arise, they can always rely on Balin.”

Bilbo chuckled. “I can imagine they are not too happy with that arrangement – especially Kili! Such a responsibility might set an end to his recklessness after all!” Suddenly his laughter died away. Thinking of Kili arose a certain question, but he was not sure if Thorin wanted to talk about it or not, so he stayed silent.

Thorin had of course recognized the change in Bilbo’s expression and looked at him inquiringly. The hobbit tried to get out of the situation by taking the empty bowls to the kitchen sink and asking cheerfully: “How about another cup of tea?”

 

________________________________

 

“Tell me of Erebor.”

It felt as if not a single day had passed since they last sat together like this: opposite to each other, a cup of hot tea in hands, the flickering candle light shining on the cosy scene. It seemed impossible that more than a year – almost one and a half! – should have passed since.

Bilbo watched Thorin curiously. He wanted to know everything – how their companions were doing, how the rebuilding was going on, what the people of Dale were up to … He had tried not to think of all these things for such a long time, but now he was determined to get to know as much as possible.

“It is a beautiful place.” Thorin’s voice was calm and yet full of emotion; Bilbo could already tell from hearing only this short sentence. “We have achieved much, but there is still a good deal to do. We cleared up the official chambers and living areas, and a substantial part of the smithies is in service again. Mining has restarted as well, but there are many areas that are not accessible yet. It’s a laborious task, but it is worthwhile – more than I can express in words.” The dwarf leaned forward, his eyes were shining with excitement as he kept talking. “It is breath-taking, Bilbo! I can hardly imagine how stunning the halls will look when the work is done completely. The green marble of the walls …”

Bilbo smiled at Thorin’s descriptions, all uttered with enthusiasm and a sparkle in the blue eyes. He could see the chambers of Erebor, filled with new life and grandeur, vividly in his imagination, and he could see the King under the Mountain walking through the halls of his kingdom, having achieved what he had so desperately longed for. Erebor had become Thorin’s home, a place where he could finally belong.

They sat together late into the night. Though Bilbo told much – about his return journey, the troubles of being presumed dead, and many other trifles as well – Thorin did most of the talking. He seemed to have an endless hoard of anecdotes about their company: how Fili still managed to sometimes get lost in the vast halls; how Bofur had developed a soft spot for Bard’s children and told them stories and songs that Dori thought so inappropriate that his supervision of his brothers now included the jolly dwarf as well; the beautiful toys Bifur was making; how Gimli could never get enough of the stories of their adventure. The whole time Thorin’s voice was affectionate, and the admiration for Erebor was displayed clearly in his eyes.

It was somewhere in these hours of talking that Bilbo finally confessed to himself that he was a hopeless case. He wasn’t able to push the thought away any longer – in fact, he wondered how he had been able to push it away for such a long time. He wasn’t sure how it came that he wasn’t able to brush his feelings aside now. Maybe it was the velvet voice that filled the room steadily, maybe the expressive eyes that looked at him, maybe the pleasant warmth he felt in his cheeks that could not arise solely from the tea.

_I’ve fallen for Thorin. I’ve fallen for a king, for royalty, who is out of my reach, and I’ve fallen for a dwarf whose home is the complete converse of the place where I belong. Hopeless indeed._

The thoughts continued to race through his head when he was in his bed. But he didn’t feel uneasy. Instead, it was a rather strange sort of … content unrest that kept him awake. It felt good that he had finally acknowledged his feelings. _I’ve fallen in love with Thorin._ His heart nearly jumped at the thought.

It was strange – Bilbo felt rather happy despite the realisation that whatever this confession entailed, what he might wish for would never come true. There were so many obstacles. It wasn’t only the class distinction – fallen for a king, if that didn’t sound like some fairy tale! But moreover, he was bound to the Shire with its green hills, whereas Thorin belonged to a kingdom of green marble. Neither of them could leave where they belonged – a dwarf king could not stay in the Shire, and how ridiculous a hobbit would look in Erebor! Not to mention that he was not sure if Thorin shared his feelings. Hopeless …

But that didn’t matter – not right now. Thorin was here. He would stay with him for a few days, and Bilbo was determined to enjoy and treasure every single moment. It was the best thing he could do. The only thing.

As Bilbo gradually drifted into sleep, he thought he could hear Thorin singing softly in the room next to him – just as he had done on April 26th two years before.


	2. Barrows and Bad Influence

Despite staying up late, both Bilbo and Thorin woke up early the next day. In fact, Thorin got up at first, for Bilbo was woken up by the sound of footsteps in the room next to his. It took him only an instant to remember that he had a visitor – a special visitor. That memory brought him out of bed speedily. He did a quick wash, dressed up and went into the kitchen to prepare their breakfast.

The eggs and bacon were not yet fried when he was joined by Thorin.

“Good morning, Bilbo.”

There was something in his voice that made Bilbo turn round. The dwarf looked at him with mild amusement.

“Good morning, Thorin. You must have slept very well when you look so content at this early hour. Or am I mistaken?”

“I did sleep well indeed, thank you. But I was just wondering … Are all hobbits dressed up like this when preparing their breakfast?”

Bilbo looked down on his clothes: breeches, white shirt, and a golden yellow waistcoat. “I am _not_ spruced up, if you mean that”, he insisted. “I don’t even wear a jacket or a neckerchief! In fact, I’m rather casual.”

“Casual, I see”, Thorin repeated as Bilbo poured him a cup of tea. He observed the dwarf out of the corner of his eye, noting that Thorin actually looked somewhat casual. He wore the usual heavy dwarven boots, dark trousers, and a blue tunic. But there were some details to his clothing that hinted at his royalty: the intricate belt buckle, the signet rings, leather bracelets – and his posture, of course, upright and majestic as always. He also wore a necklace which looked rather plain, made of simple leather, the pendant hidden under his shirt.

Bilbo must have stared at the cord noticeably because Thorin tugged at it, and the pendant became visible. To the hobbit’s amazement, it was the key – the key to the hidden door of Erebor that Gandalf had given Thorin two years ago … two years and one day ago, to be exact.

“I took it half across Middle-Earth, always close at my heart”, Thorin explained. “It felt as if something was missing when it wasn’t close to me, so …” He smiled faintly. “Maybe I’m just getting sentimental.”

“It’s a nice idea”, Bilbo answered, turning his attention to the frying pan again and putting the food onto plates. “But regarding my clothes … I thought we could go on a stroll through Hobbiton after breakfast. As you may have noticed, my pantry isn’t filled as generously as it should be by hobbit’s standards. I should have gone to the market already a few days ago, but I was quite … ahem, busy. The gardening, you know, and other household chores.” Bilbo hoped that it sounded plausible. He was not keen on explaining that he had been reluctant to leave his home, or that he hadn’t been very hungry for the last few days – weeks, if he was honest – and that there hadn’t been much reason to keep a full pantry at all. He concluded: “This would also be a good opportunity to stop at the market.”

Thorin took the plate Bilbo offered him and nodded. “Sounds like it will be a pleasant day.”

“I should probably warn you”, Bilbo commented dryly as he sat down. “We will attract some attention. Oh, we will for sure.”

 

________________________________

 

The prospect that greeted them as they stepped out from Bag End was marvellous: a vast countryside with rolling hills and rich colours, lit by the spring sun. Even the gentle breeze, enriched by the scent of flowers, smelt like spring. Thorin stopped a moment to take the sight in itself, moving his head slowly from left to right and back again as if to memorize it to the last detail. He still seemed enchanted as they went down the road.

As they passed the first colourful doors, they also passed the first astonished looks. Many hobbits were already up, working or simply sitting in their gardens or heading to the market as well. None of them uttered even a single word at the sight of Mr Baggins of Bag End and his dwarf companion.

Bilbo – now spruced up, as Thorin would have said, with jacket and neckerchief – smiled at them politely while bidding them good morning. Most of them simply stared back at him, eyes widened in amazement.

“You’re actually enjoying this, don’t you?”, Thorin asked quietly after they had passed another couple of startled hobbits.

Bilbo grinned. “Shouldn’t I? I think I can allow myself this. You know”, he said, voice more sober now, “my family used to be considered as very respectable. We Bagginses never did anything unexpected or improper. My running off into the blue to go on an adventure has caused some irretrievable damage to my family’s name. To be honest, it has caused _substantial_ irretrievable damage.”

Thorin seemed rather taken aback. “I’m sorry to hear that, Bilbo.”

The hobbit dismissed his apology with a wave of the hand. “Oh, there is no need to be sorry. I don’t value my neighbour’s opinion about me that much anymore. I thought for a while that I could meet their expectations again, but it was just tiresome. I mean, when I travelled with you dwarves, I literally crossed Middle-Earth without the buttons on my waistcoat, and you didn’t mention it once. But if I go to the market to fetch a jar of milk with a stain on my shirt, I am gazed at – look at Mr Baggins! If his poor parents could see him …”

“That sounds quite meticulous to me”, Thorin commented. “And not fair against you, if I daresay.”

“Ah, don’t listen to my gibberish. I’m only telling you of the extreme examples. Most hobbits are good-humoured, lovely fellows. Besides, I am not only a Baggins, but half a Took. My father was the most respectable hobbit you could imagine, and not even his marriage to a Took could harm his reputation in the longer term. I guess mine will withstand an adventure and some strange guests at Bag End. They just think my Tookish side has become stronger. By the by …” Bilbo glanced at Thorin, a broad smile appearing on his face. “Most of them are vary of strangers. Which means that I can do whatever I want in the next days – they will certainly blame you for having a bad influence on me!”

The dwarf looked at him, a blend of concern and suspicion on his face. “They won’t really take me for a rascal, will they?”

Bilbo laughed warmly. “Usually, dwarves just march through the Shire on their way to the Blue Mountains. So there will be some whisperings why this certain dwarfs stays at Bag End. But don’t worry, oh King under the Mountain! I got used to thirteen of you after all, so the inhabitants of Hobbiton will bear the sight of a single dwarf for a couple of days.”

Thorin didn’t seem convinced yet, and he eyed the next passer-by watchfully. As they approached the market place, the number of hobbits increased. Soon there were too much for Thorin to observe, and he put an end to it with a shrug.

They passed the first market stalls, and Bilbo turned to the dwarf. “Would you like me to cook a special dish during your stay? Please tell me so I can buy all ingredients I need.”

“I fully trust you and your art of cooking in this matter, Bilbo.”

“I like to hear that.” With a mischievous grin he added: “But don’t blame me if we end up on soup again.”

They started their stroll around the market, stopping here and there at a stall so Bilbo could survey the offered goods. He was determined to show his cooking skills at their best today and was therefore critically with the choice of ingredients.

He had just decided for a bunch of carrots and the lass in charge of the stall had turned around to wrap them for him when Bilbo took the opportunity. He brought his mouth close to Thorin’s ear – some of Thorin’s strands of hair brushed against his cheek, as he recognized with a half thrilling, half bashful feeling – and whispered: “Make her a compliment for her necklace.”

Thorin looked at him questioningly, but as the lass turned around and reached out to hand the carrots over to Bilbo, he took them himself and said amiably: “That’s a very beautiful piece of jewellery you wear, Miss.”

The girl blushed, putting a hand on the necklace. It was a simple leather cord with a pendant of carved wood, obviously handmade but pretty nonetheless. “Thank you very much, Master dwarf”, she answered, beaming with joy. She even curtsied when they bid her farewell.

“This necklace is very important to her – her name’s May, by the way”, Bilbo explained as soon as they were out of earshot. “It was a gift from one of her siblings. You’ve done her great honour with your praise. I bet she will tell every hobbit within twelve miles that you called her necklace beautiful.”

“It was beautiful indeed”, Thorin muttered somewhat timidly all of a sudden. “I don’t see why my praise should be so special.”

“Are you kidding me? A dwarf calls the jewellery of a hobbit lass beautiful – what better praise could you wish for?” Bilbo looked over his shoulder back to the stall. May was already busy telling the news to a friend with sweeping gestures. “She’s a nice lass, let her enjoy your praise.”

He looked in front of him again and nearly emitted an annoyed cry. Instead, he tucked Thorin’s arm and pushed him in front of him while trying to make himself as small as possible.

“What’s that about?”, Thorin hissed.

“Speaking of nice lasses”, Bilbo explained, “that is definitely not one.”

“Who? The one with the … Should that outrageous thing be a hat?”

“That’s my cousin Lobelia”, he answered dryly. “We have never been at good terms, but since I accused her of having all my spoons stuffed into her pocket … Never mind. I just don’t want to attract her attention.”

“And you think hiding behind _me_ will help you with that?”

“It’s possibly not the best idea I’ve ever had … What is she doing?”

“She’s scowling at us. And now … she’s turning away.”

Bilbo waited a few moments nonetheless before he left his cover. “Phew”, he commented. “That was close.”

Thorin turned to look at him with such astonishment that he could not help bursting into laughter. To his surprise, the dwarf got infected with it. “That cousin of yours looks fierce indeed”, he finally managed to say.

“Lobelia does not only look fierce, she _is_ fierce” Bilbo retorted dryly. “And that’s why we should head for the other direction.”

They continued their walk around the market and halted again at a bakery stall. The smell of fresh bread was delicious, and the cakes and pastries looked very tempting. As Bilbo turned to Thorin, he recognized a look in his eyes that he had never seen there before – they beamed in a childlike way, but also with a hint of nostalgia, almost sorrow. He followed Thorin’s gaze to realize that the dwarf gaped at the baked goods. Could it be – the thought made Bilbo smile for it seemed very endearing to him – that the king had a sweet tooth?

“Fancy one?”, Bilbo remarked casually and peered at Thorin from the side. “I’ll invite you to one of these. I’d recommend the honey cakes, they are absolutely delicious.”

Thorin finally took his eyes off the baked goods and blinked at Bilbo as if he had been lost in thought and had only just realized that the hobbit had talked to him. It took him a moment to gather what Bilbo had said, and then his mouth opened in protest.

“Oh no, I won’t let you pay for me, Bilbo.”

“Nonsense! We are only talking about honey cakes, mind you.” Bilbo gently pushed Thorin aside to talk to the baker. “And don’t worry about my finances. You can ask every hobbit you want: They will tell you that the tunnels of Bag End are overflowing with gold I brought back from the adventure you dragged me on. I guess you deserve a little reward for that, so stop protesting and”, he handed him a piece of honey cake, “enjoy it.”

They sat down on a bench in a quieter corner of the market to eat. Bilbo tried not to stare at Thorin, but he noticed that the dwarf ate slowly as if he was determined to enjoy every single bite. But he _was_ staring – Thorin must have felt Bilbo’s eyes on him and looked up questioningly.

Bilbo blushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare at you. I was just wondering … I didn’t know that dwarves are so fond of sweets.”

“Most of them aren’t particularly fond of them”, Thorin admitted. “I guess I’m a special case when it comes to sweets. You know, I have barely eaten cakes and that sort of thing in my life. We could afford them before the fall of Erebor, when I was still a child, but not during our exile. Even in the Ered Luin, when we had accomplished a life in moderate wealth, sweets were still considered a luxury. So … Something like a piece of honey cake feels quite special. It reminds me of my childhood.”

Bilbo looked down on his own piece of cake. Of course he knew of the hardships of the exiled dwarves, but he had never thought of something like that. Considering such a simple thing as luxury … And Thorin seemed so happy with this little something! He decided to buy some eggs as well so he could bake a cake to bring a smile on Thorin’s face.

“I hope it brought back good memories”, he said after a while.

“It did!” Thorin raised his hands to show the palms. “I remember that my hands were always sticky after eating sweets.”

“Sticky hands should be no problem. We hobbits always carry something with us that is very helpful in such cases.” Bilbo whipped something from his pocket – and presented a handkerchief to Thorin.

“You are full of surprises, Bilbo.” The dwarf accepted it laughingly.

Their banter was interrupted by a sudden noise, followed by agitated voices. By Shire standards, it almost seemed like a turmoil. Bilbo got up from the bench to search for its source. A barrow had come to a halt in the midst of the market square, a wheel was broken off. The owner was standing next to it, obviously overchallenged.

Thorin rose as well. “Come, let’s have a look at it. Maybe they need help.”

“Master Hogg!”, Bilbo called out to the elderly hobbit as they approached the barrow. “Are you alright?”

“Aye, I’m fine, Mister Baggins”, the hobbit answered. “Can’t say that of my barrow, however.”

“The axle is broken”, Thorin commented after a glimpse. “It looks rather old, but I think any blacksmith should be able to fix it without much effort.”

“Well”, Master Hogg said, “usually I would go and ask my cousin to help me with this, but he’s in Buckland right now, visiting family on his mother’s side …”

“A cousin?”, Thorin asked taken aback. “Does that mean you don’t have a proper blacksmith in Hobbiton?”

The hobbits exchanged a quick glance. “There is a kind of workshop”, Bilbo finally answered, “but not what any dwarf would call a smithy.” He harrumphed and added: “Most hobbits are able to fix little problems on their own. A blacksmith’s services are seldom asked for. But there is one in Bywater –“

“Spare me!”, Thorin exclaimed. “Can you show me this … workshop you talked of? I think I should be able to fix that on my own.”

“Please, don’t bother yourself, Master Dwarf–“

“It isn’t a bother at all. I’ll probably enjoy standing at the anvil.”

They were lucky, Bilbo thought on their way to the workshop, that Thorin was there to help them. Otherwise it would have been a nuisance to get the barrow with its remaining three wheels to the workshop. However, the dwarf was much stronger than the hobbits and eased their task very much. Bilbo sometimes forgot how strong dwarves – and Thorin of all – were. It was difficult to remember such things when at the same time he could be delighted with something as simple as honey cake.

The workshop resembled a backyard shed, as Thorin remarked with a snort. It was indeed used as one, as Bilbo could tell from the stacked crates and piles of rubbish inside of it. But the facilities would be sufficient. There was an anvil, a fire pit – the coals were, however, cold – and tools he could work with.

Thorin tied his dark hair loosely back so it wouldn’t get in his way and rolled his sleeves up. He started by heating the coals in the fire pit. The hobbits who had helped to get the barrow there gaped at the apparent experience of Thorin’s movements. But as they figured out that there help wasn’t needed – in fact, they were more likely to get into the dwarf’s way – they retreated silently. Bilbo in turn took a seat on one of the crates.

“You know that you haven’t got to do that”, he remarked after a while.

“I wasn’t lying when I said that I would enjoy it. I don’t have much opportunity to do some forging in Erebor. I either have to turn my attention to other matters, or people keep telling me that working at the anvil isn’t appropriate for a king.”

As soon as Thorin had uttered the last word, Bilbo could hear someone out of the workshop gasp for breath. _Must be quite a shock to Master Hogg to learn that the King under the Mountain is repairing his old barrow_ , he thought amused.

“I’ve worked in many smithies in the villages of men when our people were looking for a place to stay”, Thorin continued, not satisfied with the colour in which the embers were glowing yet. He reached for the bellows. “Sure, it was necessary – I had to earn a living. But I always liked the work at the anvil nonetheless. There is something liberating about it. It’s what we dwarves were made for.”

It was not hard to tell that he really enjoyed the work, especially for someone who knew the dwarf as well as Bilbo did. Thorin’s face remained focused during the preparations. But as he started to work on the metal with precise hammer blows Bilbo could make out little details that revealed his delight. His body stayed tense, but the lines of his face softened. His eyes glistered as they were concentrated on the piece of metal. The light of the fire pit made the droplets of sweat that had appeared on his neck sparkle. They seemed to shiver every time Thorin raised his hand, every time the muscles in his arm tensed, every time he let the hammer fall down on the anvil. Raise, tense, fall. Raise, tense, fall … The constant rhythm made Bilbo’s eyelids heavy, and the heat added to his drowsiness. Raise, tense, fall …

“You’re rather spruced up for a stay in the smithy, don’t you think?”

Thorin’s voice was suddenly so close that Bilbo started from his little shut-eye. He thought he could still hear the constant sound of a hammer hitting the anvil. He blinked. Not only his voice was close, Thorin himself was close. Very close. He bent down to him, supporting himself against the crate on which the hobbit sat. Bilbo could feel the heat the dwarf emanated just like embers, could smell his heady scent, could see the beads of sweat trickling over his neck and chest and making his skin shine – and suddenly he could feel a hand on his cheek, horn-ridged and yet gentle. Thorin’s breath brushed his face as he brought his lips closer to the hobbit’s ear, almost touching it.

“There is no need for all these trappings here”, he whispered in a low tone, sending shivers down Bilbo’s spine, “don’t you agree?” His hand moved from Bilbo’s cheek down to his neck, tugging at the silken neckerchief and loosening it. He caressed the exposed skin, finally kissing the tip of Bilbo’s ear. His lips felt so soft and hot … Bilbo could not suppress a moan and thus educed a chuckle from Thorin.

“Don’t be afraid”, he whispered, not stopping his nuzzling of the hobbit’s ears, but becoming more fervently.

Bilbo wanted to say that he wasn’t afraid, but it was very hard to concentrate on even such a simple task with Thorin now kissing his neck –

The sound of the hammer stopped.

“Bilbo? We’re done here.”

“What?” The hobbit blinked, finding himself in a much darker and cooler workshop. He still felt a tickle in his ear, but his neckerchief was tied neatly, as he recognized.

Thorin stood in front of him – not as close as a moment before – and cleaned his hands on a cloth. “You nodded off. You were still dozing when I had repaired the barrow, but some friends of Master Hogg had asked me if I could help them with some other repairs – the rumour of a dwarf working in the smithy has travelled quite fast. It were only some trifles, so I decided to let you sleep for a bit longer and settle those works … It seems that not even hammer and anvil can disturb your sleep.”

“Dear me.” _Dear me indeed. You could at least try to work your way through Thorin’s stay without making a complete fool of yourself._ “It’s already getting dark! How long did I sleep?” Not long enough, if he thought of that dream … His cheeks were still burning, but mercifully the dwarf thought he was abashed for having fallen asleep.

“Don’t worry. Some of your friends have taken good care of me. They’ve even brought me a pint of ale … Green Dragon Brew, they explained rather proudly.”

Bilbo managed a smirk. “Sounds like you’ve made some friends. That is a pity, I must confess. My plan won’t be successful: Nobody will believe that you have a bad influence on me after today!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should say sorry for the scene in the smithy ... but actually I'm not :P I can only assure you that it wasn't planned, but came up during writing ... I was quite surprised as well, but I hope you liked the chapter ;)


	3. Herbs and Honey

The next day, Bilbo was resolute not to let anything intervene with his preparations for the opulent meal he had promised Thorin. They had been kept in the workshop so long the day before that he had dismissed the idea of a feast due to the lack of sufficient preparation time. Instead, he had prepared what he had called a “rather impromptu stew”. It had been delicious nonetheless, and Thorin was curios how delicate the promised dinner would be.

“I’m afraid I won’t be as commendable a host as I should be this afternoon”, Bilbo explained as they sat at the dining-table, having a snack instead of a full lunch in anticipation of the special dinner. It might be a snack to hobbit standards, but it was still rather ample. “I’m determined to show you my cooking at its best, and I’m afraid that takes its time.”

Thorin raised his cup partly to hide his smile behind it. He had noticed that the hobbit was fairly concerned with the upcoming cookery as if he were to host a whole delegation of dignitaries, not just one dwarf – who was a king, granted, but who was his friend as well. They had spent the morning with another stroll around Hobbiton, but Bilbo had seemed distracted, as if he were already standing in his kitchen and overseeing simmering pots.

“It sounds like a laborious task. Let me help you”, Thorin suggested as he emptied his cup. “And don’t you dare objecting, Bilbo. I know, I know, I’m your guest, but that doesn’t mean you should toil in the kitchen all alone while I put my feet up.” _Besides,_ he added silently, _I came to the Shire to spend time with you._

“I won’t argue with a stubborn dwarf”, Bilbo answered with a wry smile. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

The business started rather easy with chopping vegetables. Thorin did not consider himself clumsy when it came to cooking, but in comparison to Bilbo he felt unskilled. The hobbit handled the kitchen knife in an effortless way Thorin could only marvel at. He remembered the occasions when Bilbo had cooked during their journey. He had always managed to produce a tasty meal, even with hardly sufficient ingredients. But now he appeared confident and comfortable. Happy. Standing in his kitchen and softly humming, there was not a spark of doubt: Bilbo belonged here. It was his home, the place where he could live happily. Only a fool would hope that he could be happy elsewhere.

_A fool like me._

Thorin pulled himself together and concentrated on his task again. Soon there was a pile of chopped vegetables in front of him.

“What’s next, chef?”, he asked teasingly.

Bilbo shook his head with a slight smile as if he wanted to retort something, but decided against. “Well done. Now you could peel and slice the taters, please.”

The dwarf blinked at him. “Sorry?”

 “The taters.” Bilbo pointed to a sideboard where vegetables, fruits, pouches and baskets full of ingredients were piled up. As Thorin continued to stare at him blankly, he explained slowly: “Po-ta-toes.”

“Why didn’t you say that at once?” The dwarf huffed. “You hobbits have strange expressions, that’s for sure.”

The work progressed, and soon the first pots were simmering on the stove. The smell was already delicious. However, Bilbo wouldn’t tell him what dishes would be served eventually, and he enjoyed keeping it a secret visibly.

His face became rather thoughtful, however, as he tasted something that looked like gravy to Thorin.

“Is something wrong?”, the dwarf asked.

“Something’s missing.” Bilbo tilted his head. “Some herbs, probably.”

“May I try as well?”

“Sure.” Bilbo took another spoon full and held it out to Thorin. “Careful, it’s hot.”

He took a step closer and bowed down slightly to taste the gravy. He was very close to Bilbo now, but avoided looking into those dark eyes. He knew too well how distracting they were. He didn’t succeed in his resolution entirely – of course not, the sight was just too tempting – but at least managed to leave it at a short glance. And even this short glance was enough to make his heart beat faster.

The gravy was already tasty, but Bilbo was right: There was something missing. “Hm”, Thorin made while licking his lips, “maybe some marjoram would help?”

Bilbo’s face lightened up. “I think that’s it! There is some marjoram in the garden, let’s collect a bundle!” He turned to check that the pots and pans were only simmering on a low heat, then he led Thorin into the garden.

“I didn’t know that you are skilled in the subtleties of cooking”, Bilbo commented on their way. “No offense, but I cannot remember seeing you cook during our journey.”

Thorin grimaced. “It’s quite the same as with the work in the smithy. The cooking is almost always taken out of my hands because I’m the king although I know how to cook. But to be honest, there are far better cooks than me.” He smiled vaguely. “And after you had cooked for us the first time, all our companions only wanted to eat your food. You spoiled them.”

“Oh, you’re exaggerating.” Bilbo seemed flattered nonetheless, and a slight blush covered his cheeks.

They left the smial through a side door and stepped right into the garden. Bilbo led the way as confident as if he could find it blindfolded. It was clear how much the hobbit cared for his garden, even a dwarf could tell. The hedges and bushes were cut neatly, the flowerbeds were full of colour, and the beds of soil already looked auspiciously. They would surely produce a good crop of fruit. Although it was obvious that Bilbo spent much effort in his garden, it didn’t look arranged and artificial. Everything looked naturally. Thorin had seen some gardens on their walks, and even to hobbit standards Bilbo’s garden was exceptionally beautiful.

Bilbo had reached the herbal bed. In squatting position, he looked for the wanted herbs. His hands moved through the plants, carefully shoving them aside on his search for marjoram. When he had found it, he didn’t pluck the leaves, but cautiously chose and removed them. All his movements were full of gentleness, and Thorin wondered how it would feel to hold them, to intertwine with the delicate fingers and raise them to brush the knuckles with his lips … And how the touch of these hands must feel? Gentle fingers on his cheek, running through his hair, or even tracing the line of his lips …

_What are you thinking? Get yourself together!_ He oppressed the urge to shake his head to get it clear again. He almost didn’t realize that Bilbo had collected enough herbs and was looking at him, head tilted and smiling. It wasn’t very helpful in getting a clear head. Not at all. But Thorin managed something that could be taken for an encouraging smile, and they returned to the kitchen.

“I have to gather something from the pantry”, Bilbo recollected on their way. “I’ll be back in a second. Please, take this for me into the kitchen.” Saying this, he handed the herbs over to Thorin. Their hands touched – only for a short moment, but it was enough to raise a blush. Fortunately Bilbo had already turned and didn’t see that. Flustered, the dwarf retreated into the kitchen. When he was sure that the hobbit was out of earshot, he took a deep breath to restrain himself. Why was it so easy for Bilbo to make him feel like a love-struck fool? He could look at emissaries and trading partners without blinking, but there was something about Bilbo that made it impossible for him to gather his wits together. Even now:  He could only hear the hobbit rummaging around in the pantry, and it made him smile fondly.

Thorin had come to the Shire to spend time with Bilbo because he had missed him. Missed him badly. But what he had seen so far had only confirmed him in his belief that his hobbit belonged to the Shire. He was happy here, without a doubt. It would be too selfish to ask him –

Suddenly, there came a curse out of the pantry.

“Something wrong?”, Thorin called out, glad to get distracted from his thoughts.

Bilbo entered the kitchen, a frown on his face. “I forgot to buy hazelnuts yesterday”, he said contritely.

“That’s no problem. I can go to the market and fetch some for you”, Thorin offered.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Bilbo dismissed the idea with a wave of the hand. “They are not that essential anyway. But …” The expression in his eyes changed as a thought obviously struck him. “Come to think of it … You would actually do me a great favour if you could fetch me some hazelnuts. Yes, yes.” He already turned to leave the kitchen. “Just let me get you some coins.”

“Don’t bother yourself, I’ll get along. Or do you think hobbits will make an objection to dwarvish coins?”

“I guess not.” Bilbo grinned. “Although I think that they won’t spend them. But they will make a nice mathom. The most coveted in the whole Shire, I’m sure.” He chuckled at Thorin’s puzzled expression. “I’ll explain it later. Now off you go!”

 

________________________________

 

Thorin came to the conclusion that hobbits must be as talkative as ravens, if not worse. On his way to the market he met friendlier faces than the day before – the rumour of his repairing Master Hogg’s barrow had obviously spread.

At the market place, the hobbit lass who had been so happy about his praise of her jewellery caught his eye. As he had no clue where he could find hazelnuts, he decided to ask her – May, he remembered – for help.

A smile appeared on May’s face as he approached her. “Good afternoon, Master Dwarf”, she greeted cheerfully. “How can I help you?”

“Good afternoon to you as well, May. I hoped you could tell me where I can find hazelnuts.”

“Of course.” She pointed to a market stall on the opposite side of the square. “I recommend Mistress Lightfoot's stall to you. Her products are not the cheapest, but their quality is undeniable.”

Thorin thanked her. He had already turned away when the girl called out to him once more.

“Master Dwarf? May I ask you something?”

“Thorin”, he replied as he faced her again. “Please call me Thorin. What is it you want to know, May?”

The lass blushed and began to stammer: “Well, I know that it’s not my business, but, you know … Many people have been wondering … If I might be so bold to ask: What is your connection to Mister Baggins, Master Dw- I mean, Master Thorin?”

He wanted to reply, but hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he could tell other hobbits – even if they were decent people like May – from perilous journeys, dragons, and armies. It wouldn’t do Bilbo’s reputation much good.

Finally, Thorin answered: “He is my friend. He has been an inestimable help on our journey. My kin and I owe him very much.”

It was the plain truth. Without Bilbo, the company would never have come very far – _Thorin_ would not have come very far. Without Bilbo, Azog would have killed him on the slopes of the Misty Mountains. He would never have received support from the people of Lake-Town if Bilbo had not vouched for him. He would have stood in front of a closed door on Durin’s Day without Bilbo’s cleverness. Or he would have starved to death, locked inside a mountain and sitting on a heap of gold. Thorin swallowed at the thought. He owed Bilbo a lot indeed.

He needed a moment to gather himself. Luckily, one of May’s customers had overheard their conversation and said jovially: “Aye, Mister Bilbo is a fine fellow. Can’t say a bad word about him.”

An approving sound came from one of the passer-byes. “He is always so nice”, explained the woman. “I admired one of his plants every time I walked along Bag End – he really has green fingers, Mister Baggins – and he gave me one of its saplings for my own garden as a gift!”

The youth who accompanied her nodded. “He’s very generous and always nice. I once broke one of his windows with a ball accidentally, and even at that occasion he didn’t scold me. He didn’t even tell my parents!” He squinted at the woman nervously. “Please don’t tell them as well, auntie.”

Thorin listened with a growing smile as a hobbit told them that Mister Baggins had visited his bedridden father every day two weeks in length, always with a little present for the sick man. It seemed that every hobbit could tell a nice tale or two of Mister Baggins of Bag End. Bilbo’s reputation wasn’t as bad as he thought of it himself.

Thorin enjoyed the anecdotes the hobbits told him so much that he lingered on the market longer as he had intended. Finally he managed to tear away from the stories – but they were so endearing, it was hard to stop listening to them – and to deal with the task he had come for. With a pouch of hazelnuts he hurried back to Bag End at last.

 

________________________________

 

Thorin opened the green door and was welcomed by a variety of delicious smells that made his mouth water and his stomach growl.

“I’m back”, he called out. “Sorry for the delay.” He went towards the kitchen, but Bilbo was already awaiting him in the hallway, arms crossed, but with a smile. His face was reddened and his locks were damp from the work in the kitchen. He looked very lovely.

“I was afraid you lost your way again”, he remarked teasingly.

“Not at all”, Thorin replied good-humouredly. “But it turned out that hobbits are rather talkative once they conquer their suspicions. Where shall I take these?” He lifted the pouch of hazelnuts, but Bilbo took it out of his hands.

“Leave that to me. I won’t let you go into the kitchen right now, it would only spoil the surprise. It won’t take much longer. Why don’t you take the opportunity to refresh yourself? I will call you soon.” With this, he turned on his heel and left Thorin in the hallway. The dwarf smirked. It seemed as if Bilbo had been quite happy to get rid of him for a while. He was curios what the hobbit had been up to.

It took not long for him to find out. He went to the bathroom, but had hardly dried his face when Bilbo called out for him. Thorin had not thought it possible, but the smells became even more delicious as he approached the dining-room.

The sight that awaited him was stunning. The table was beautifully laid with green cloth and colourful crockery. Candles spread a warm light. The bowls and plates were filled to brimming and looked very, very inviting. A golden potato casserole, small vegetable pies, crisp chicken with mushroom gravy, a big bowl of fruit punch …

Bilbo had surpassed himself.

“Now stop staring as if you’ve never seen food before”, Bilbo teased. “Take a seat and help yourself!”

He didn’t have to tell Thorin twice. He enjoyed every bite and told the hobbit more than once how impressed he was. Bilbo accepted every praise with a jolly grin and burning cheeks.

“I hope you can still do with a dessert”, he said when the plates were empty and they had sat for a while in silent contentment.

“If you are the cook: Always”, Thorin assured with a laugh, and Bilbo disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a tray in his hands and showed it with an almost shy smile. Thorin thought the sight very moving, and he answered the smile from the bottom of his heart.

The dessert was a honey cake, coated with caramelized hazelnuts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on hobbit names: The family name of "Hogg" was made up by Tolkien, but not actually used.  
> "May" is from the hobbit family trees - in fact, it's the name of one of Sam Gamgee's sisters. Sam is born in T.A. 2.980, but I kept the little allusion to the necklace as a gift of one of her siblings. It's too endearing :)


	4. Melodies and Memories

The next day, the weather was as pleasant as one could wish for: the green of the hills seemed to be more intense than usual, the sky was bright blue, and the air already smelled like summer. Therefore Bilbo and Thorin agreed on going outdoors again – not for a mere stroll this time, but a walking tour. _Maybe,_ Bilbo mused, _it will lead us even as far as Frogmorton._ He chuckled at the thought what he had once called a long walk. He had to admit that the walking stick in his hand as well as the weight of the backpack – although rather light, for it contained only some provisions – felt good.

“Look, there”, Bilbo pointed to a track that passed down the hill slopes and continued across a meadow. “That’s the way I rushed along to catch up with your company. Actually it’s a nice way to walk. Come on, let’s follow it!” He directed Thorin to the track.

As they arrived at the bottom of the hill, Bilbo turned and pointed back to Bag End; the great oak tree on its top could be seen from almost everywhere in Hobbiton. “That’s where I came running down. I even jumped across a fence because I was in such a hurry, can you imagine that?”

“I can imagine the faces your neighbours must have made when they saw you”, Thorin replied with a laugh. “You must have been a rather uncommon sight.”

“I guess so.” Bilbo could not help laughing as well. “In hindsight I’m just glad that I didn’t fall over. That would have been quite embarrassing. Not that I didn’t stumble, mind you.”

They continued their walk across the lush meadow. Suddenly Thorin asked: “Did you ever regret your decision?”

Bilbo blinked at him. “To join your company, you mean? Well, there were some moments when I thought that I must have gone mad – when we had to walk in pouring rain, or when we were chased by orcs. But I guess that’s just reasonable.” He glanced at Thorin. The dwarf in turn eyed him with such a serious look that Bilbo lessened his wry statement with a smile. He did not regret his choice. Although he admitted that there had been one moment where he had done so. In fact, only the sudden assault of the goblins had prevented him from returning to Rivendell. He remembered feeling miserable and lonely as well as the crushing awareness that he could never, would never really belong to the company.

He had been wrong.

 

_Night has fallen, but it’s hot on the slopes of the Misty Mountains. Fire is spluttering and crackling everywhere – and not in the pleasant way as it would sound in the hearth. Oh no, Bilbo’s cosy fireplace is far, far away. Instead of sitting in front of his hearth, he clings to the branch of a tree and watches with growing horror how Thorin strides through the flames, approaching the pale orc on his giant warg._

_Why did you come back?_

_Bilbo cannot forget the look in Thorin’s eyes as he answers the dwarf’s question. For the first time since their encounter at Bag End he has the feeling that they understand each other. It’s not like they have never talked with each other during all the time on the road, but it always seemed … cool. Professional. The king and the burglar._

_He doesn’t want to admit it at first, but Thorin’s harsh words at the entrance of the goblin-cave hurts him. Maybe because they are true. He_ feels _lost among the dwarves. He can fool about with Fili and Kili, he can chatter with Bofur, he can talk with Balin. But he still feels lonely during the long hours of the night. Thorin is right – he is lost._

_So why did he come back?_

_Bilbo cannot deny that Thorin impresses him. Has impressed him from the moment when the door of Bag End has opened. He is a remarkable figure after all. And his loyalty to his company is admirable. Although he doubts Bilbo, he has saved him several times._

_But the hobbit still remembers the passion in the dwarf’s voice when he talked about their lost home for the first time. And when Thorin started to sing, the other dwarves joining him … This is not a quest to reclaim gold and glory. It is a quest to reclaim a home. He was not able yet to tell Thorin that he understands his wish, his longing for Erebor. Until now._

_That’s the reason why Bilbo can’t just stay back and watch. He has to save Thorin._

_He grips the hilt of his sword._

Something yanked Bilbo out of his memories. In less than a moment he realized that his foot was entangled in something – _some tendril or root_ , a part of him found the leisure to muse. Some reflex made him close his eyes, put his arms in front of his body and wait for the moment he would hit the ground.

It did not come.

He felt a firm grip on his shoulder, and instead of falling to the ground Bilbo dashed against Thorin. He found himself pressed against the dwarf, one of Thorin’s hands on his shoulder, one around his wrist. His own hands, he gathered somewhat bewildered, were clinging to Thorin’s chest. _Just for support. For support_ , he tried to calm himself. But he could not bring himself to withdraw. Being so close to him … It felt right. At least he managed to relax his grip on the dwarf’s shirt. He could feel Thorin’s heartbeat under his palms – it seemed rather quick to him, but his own wasn’t any better at the moment.

“Are you okay, Bilbo?”

The hobbit was so close that he could actually feel Thorin’s voice vibrating in his chest. A part of him wanted to lean even closer, to put his ear on the dwarf’s chest and hear his voice rumble, hear his heartbeat. But the other part got control over him, and he jerked back while stammering: “Y-yes, yes, I’m alright, d-don’t worry.”

He wriggled himself out of Thorin’s embrace – _support! It’s just support!_ – and took a deep breath. He did not dare to look into Thorin’s face right now. His own was burning, and he did not trust his voice yet.

At least they managed to continue their walk somehow. Thorin took a step forward, or maybe Bilbo did – whatever! It didn’t matter. So they went on, though the silence lasted.

 

________________________________

 

Thorin would have scowled if he weren’t busy pretending that nothing awkward had happened. It took him effort to keep a calm face. But he was flustered – very flustered.

_You hopeless fool!_ , he scolded himself. _What was that all about?_ It could have been so easy to explain: Bilbo had stumbled, and he had prevented him from falling. Nothing more. Quite natural and nothing to feel embarrassed about. But his hold of Bilbo had been too gentle to count as mere support, and had definitely lasted too long as well. But he hadn’t had the strength to resist … well, to resist all that was Bilbo: the gentle pressure of his body against Thorin’s, his hand on his chest as he supported himself, the smell of green hills and a spring breeze … This moment had made Thorin’s heart ache.

Thorin tried not to glance at the hobbit. What he must be thinking of him now! Bilbo had recognized that their situation had been awkward for sure.

The dwarf tried to distract himself by looking at the surroundings. But that didn’t help at all, for the thought of the hobbit also interfered with that. He could clearly see how Bilbo was running cross-country to catch up with the company …

 

_Thorin’s body aches as he stands up to face the chosen burglar of their company. He cannot deny it: He has doubted Gandalf’s choice right from the beginning. Master Baggins seems just too … soft. Too accustomed to the comforts of home to go on this adventure. Or any adventure at all. However, he was impressed – at least a bit – as he has shown up, running after them, signed contract in one hand._

_And Bilbo has impressed him several times since that morning. He has shown his cleverness when distracting the trolls from the rising of the sun, to name one thing. And Thorin thinks highly of him for not leaving the company after hearing from dragon-sickness – and how likely it is that Thorin falls under its curse._

_But he has to be honest: For the most part their burglar is only a burden. He is not a fighter or even an adventurer._

_But then …_

_Why did you come back?_

_Bilbo’s answer to this question deeply affects Thorin. Bilbo understands the longing of the dwarves – Thorin’s longing for a home. No, not even does he understand, but he is willing to abandon his own beloved home to help them in the reclaiming of Erebor. It is such an act of selflessness, and the hobbit is so … serene about it. He doesn’t boast with his decision, he just says how it is. There is something in his eyes that makes Thorin lower his gaze. He knows that he owns Bilbo an apology, but he is at a loss for words._

_But then, the orcs attack._

_And Bilbo saves his life. This little hobbit, who does hardly know how to wield a sword, throws himself with all his weight between him and the cruellest orc on his terrifying white warg. It is a sight that Thorin will never forget._

_Darkness follows, but it clears again, and there is no Bilbo in front of him any longer. Where is he? Please, don’t let his act of bravery be the end … Just don’t …_

_Bilbo is here, Gandalf assures him, but Thorin has to see him with his own eyes. And now he’s standing in front of him. The hobbit has just thrown himself in front of a bloodthirsty enemy, but now he looks insecure, almost small._

_“Did I not say that you would be a burden?” Thorin’s voice is harsh. “That you would not survive in the wild?” Bilbo maintains a blank face, but he flinches. “That you had no place amongst us?” It’s not reproaches that makes his voice so rough. It’s the shame about his own behaviour that finally cuts its way to the surface. He has been cruel towards the hobbit, and the gentle soul has saved him nonetheless – at the risk of his own life._

_Suddenly he feels only relief that Bilbo is save. Thorin takes a step forwards to pull Bilbo in his embrace. “I’ve never been so wrong in all my life.”_

 

________________________________

 

Bilbo was still flustered, and the silence stretched endlessly – until Thorin, all of a sudden, began to hum. Bilbo was sure to recognize the melody.

“Isn’t that _Far over the Misty Mountains cold?_ ”, he asked, glad for an opportunity to start a harmless talk and forget his stumble and its implications.

Thorin looked at him. He didn’t seem uncomfortable anymore – if he had ever felt uncomfortable? Bilbo hadn’t dared to look at the dwarf during their silence. “It’s the same melody”, he answered, “though I wasn’t thinking of the verses you already know. Fili and Kili came up with some new. Curios?”

Bilbo nodded, and Thorin cleared his throat. Then he began to sing:

 

_The mountain throne once more is freed!_

_O wandering folk, the summons heed!_

_Come haste! Come haste! Across the waste!_

_The King of friend and kin has need._

_Now call we over mountains cold_

_“Come back unto the caverns old!”_

_Here at the gates the King awaits,_

_His hands are rich with gems and gold._

 

Thorin’s voice seemed to falter a bit at the mentions of gems and gold, but apart from this it was just beautiful. It appeared to Bilbo that his voice got even more impressive when the dwarf sang, warmer and more velvet. The song awakened his desire to see Erebor once more, now a kingdom full of peace and plenty, being awaited by the king, arms opened wide …

“It’s a beautiful song”, he remarked, hoping not to sound too infatuated. “So Fili and Kili came up with the new lines?”

“Yes, they are quite musical.”

“Seems to run in the family, eh?”

“Probably. Although I guess that hobbits have a different taste in music. I can’t remember hearing one of your folk’s songs, or did I just miss them?”

“Is that a request? Well, let me think for a second …” There were many songs, but mostly were fit for an evening in the tavern, not for a walk. But there were a few for that occasion as well. Bilbo decided for the first song that came into his mind:

 

_Home is behind, the world ahead_

_And there are many paths to tread_

_Through shadows to the edge of night,_

_Until the stars are all alight._

_Then world behind and home ahead,_

_We’ll wander back to home and bed._

_Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,_

_Away shall fade! Away shall fade!_

_Fire and lamp and meat and bread,_

_And then to bed! And then to bed!_

 

Bilbo fell silent. Maybe another song would have been better? Now, after having finished singing, this one felt a bit gloomy. Sure, fire and lamp, meat and bread sounded quite cosy – but shadows, night, mist and twilight? What had made him chose this of all songs?

“It is enchanting”, Thorin commented, much to Bilbo’s relief. “The melody reminds me of _Misty Mountains Cold_. Is it an old song?”

“A-actually not”, Bilbo had to confess. “It’s barely a year old, and, strictly speaking, it’s not an actual hobbit song. I-I made it up myself.”

Thorin gave him a look that he could not wholly interpret. “You never cease to amaze me, Bilbo. Making up your own songs! Though …”, he hesitated, pondering on his next words, “it has a sad touch about it, if I may say so.”

“No-nonsense!”, Bilbo protested, even though he had thought the same only a few moments ago. “It’s a cosy song – warmth, food, rest … It’s home! You should know that by now!”

“I didn’t mean the ending”, Thorin corrected gently, “It’s the first stanza. Wandering through darkness, away from home and not knowing where the path will lead you … There _is_ something sorrowful about it.”

Bilbo could almost feel the sorrow in Thorin’s voice, and he stopped dead in his tracks. The dwarf turned at him, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Thorin”, Bilbo said while looking earnestly at him, and his voice was solemn. “I do not regret my decision.” There was no need to explain what decision he was talking about. “Not at all. I don’t regret it. And I will never forget it.” Warmly he added: “You must never doubt that.”

The puzzled look on Thorin’s face changed into a smile. “Bilbo, I stopped doubting you long ago.”

Both of them tried to hide their smile as they thought of the Carrock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs are all J.R.R. Tolkien's work, I took them from The Grey Havens (www.tolkien.cro.net).  
> For Thorin's song I used stanzas from "Song for the King under the Mountain" (I only used a part that seemed fit for the story), and Bilbo's song is - what a surprise - the travelling song "Home is behind".


	5. Tales and Tokens

Thorin now knew Bilbo’s famous garden and armchair, but so far he had not had the opportunity to see his books as well. He mentioned this circumstance, and the hobbit agreed at once to show him his library.

He led Thorin through some hallways and rooms the dwarf could not remember seeing before – Bag End really was vast! – when they came to a small room he recognized as a study. The writing desk nearly vanished under bunches of papers. A book in red leather rested amidst them, looking as dignified as the raven crown of Erebor did on its pedestal.

“So this is where you come up with your songs?”, Thorin guessed with a smile, remembering their walking tour the day before.

“Actually not.” Suddenly Bilbo seemed rather timid. “In fact, these are notes I’ve taken during our journey. I plan to write the whole story down.”

The dwarf eyed the red book with growing keenness. He wondered if he might take a look at it. It was evident that Bilbo was somewhat nervous about it, and nobody knew better than dwarves that it wasn’t polite to meddle with other people’s secrets. But a story about their own adventure – he was bursting with curiosity! He wondered what Bilbo might write down. What events did he consider worthy of remembering, what did he only sum up quickly? Thorin knew stories and songs about their quest – they were quite popular in Erebor. But this was not the version of some bard, but of a very own member of their company! It was Bilbo’s version, and his words were precious to Thorin.

“Forgive my curiosity, but may I take a look at it?”, he finally brought himself to ask.

Bilbo’s sudden shyness was very endearing: the way he blushed and ran a hand through his curls... “I’m afraid that’s not possible. N-not because I’m being secretive, but I haven’t started writing yet. It’s difficult, you know – there is so many material to consider and arrange, and, well, starting is always the most- the most difficult part.”

“What a pity.” Thorin glanced at the book before he let his gaze drift over the paper bundles. A single sheet caught his attention. He asked Bilbo for permission before he carefully took the sheet. It was a portrait of Bilbo. “Ori made this, right?”

The hobbit nodded, and Thorin examined the portrait closer. Ori really had talent, it was a good likeness of Bilbo. He looked rather serious – as could be expected from a hobbit posing for an artist –, but there was a spark in his eyes that hinted at his newly-won experience as an adventurer. Thorin observed with amusement that the first two buttons of his shirt were undone, and he didn’t wear a neckerchief – how very unsuitable for hobbit standards! Ori’s eye for such details was very good – the way a pointed ear peeked out of Bilbo’s slightly dishevelled curls …

“I’ve made some sketches myself”, Bilbo interrupted his musings. Thorin looked at a bunch of papers the hobbit held out to him. A mixture of proud and shyness appeared on his face as Thorin took the papers and looked at them. One sketch showed the key he now wore around his neck down to the last detail, one was a beautiful view of the Lonely Mountain … and there were even more portraits of the company! His admiration of Bilbo’s drawing skills increased as he marvelled at drawing of the dwarves: a sketch of Dwalin and Fili as they practised sword-fighting, a study of Bifur, half bent over one of his mechanical toys, Dori enjoying a cup of something that was probably camomile …

Thorin smirked as he came upon a sheet that showed his own face. Did he really look like this? So … grave? Maybe Fili and Kili were right when they teased him with being too majestic … But there was a close resemblance, and Bilbo’s eye for details was marvellous. The fine lines in the face, the braids, and even his ear rings could be glimpsed, peeping out between thick strands of hair. It was an amazing portrait.

He returned the bunch of sheets with a warm smile. “You have to tell me of your progress”, he said. “I’d love to read your book one day.”

Bilbo took the bunch as well as the compliment with a shy smile. He placed the papers on his writing desk with great care before they left the study and headed for the library.

It was amazing how many books the hobbit owned. The rebuilding of Erebor’s archives had begun under the careful supervision of Balin and Ori, but many precious volumes had been lost to the dragon fire and the decades of neglect. The archives were only a sad residue of their former glory. But the hobbit owned so many books – it was hard to believe that this was the library of a single person. Thorin tilted his head to look at the spines. Lexica, cookery books, books about gardening, chronicles, volumes of poetry … There were just so many! If Bilbo had read them all?

“I am at a loss”, he said, shaking his head. “They are too many books to gather at a first glance. Maybe you can recommend me something?”

Bilbo’s eyes wandered across the spines. Then, his face brightened, and he took a thin volume out of the shelf. It appeared to have been read often for it looked well-thumbed. But its owner had also taken good care of it, for there were no stains on it, and the pages did not appear to be torn.

“Actually, it’s a children’s story”, he said apologetically. “But I loved listening to it when I was still a fauntling. Besides, a dwarf occurs in it! Maybe you’ll find it amusing?”

“Oh, I’m eager to see how you hobbits imagine us dwarves in your fairy tales”, Thorin chuckled as he received the booklet from Bilbo.

 

________________________________

 

Bilbo had been right: It was an amusing tale.

They had made themselves comfortable in the garden, Thorin leaning against a tree stem, Bilbo lying prone next to him; the hobbit’s feet moved slowly back and forth in the air as he was reading. Thorin could imagine that he had read books in this manner when he had still been a child.

The story Bilbo had recommended was about a young hobbit – a fauntling, as Thorin had already learned – who found a stone at the roadside. It was an ordinary stone, heavy, grey, a bit dusty. But there was something about it the fauntling liked, so he picked it up and continued his way. He encountered other hobbits, and everyone asked him why he was carrying this stone with him. It was just an ordinary stone, why did he burden himself with such a thing that could be found anywhere? But the young hobbit just shrugged and told them that he liked the stone and wanted to keep it. The others stared at him in disbelief, but he continued his way.

Finally he came across a dwarf, even bigger than the young hobbit’s parents, with a long dark beard, a blue hood with a silver tassel, and a stern face. He asked the fauntling why he was carrying this stone, but received the same answer as all before him: a shrug and a simple “I like it. I want to keep it”. The dwarf pulled out a cloth and told the hobbit to polish the stone with it. The fauntling did as he was told, and behold! The grey surface disappeared, and hidden underneath was a jewel, beautiful and sparkling in a deep enchanting blue.

The hobbit looked at it in amazement. “It is beautiful”, he finally said, turning to the dwarf, “but, you know, I already thought that of my stone before.”

At these words, the dwarf laughed. “That’s good”, he said, “for a stone would never turn into a jewel for somebody who does not appreciate its value right from the beginning.”

This conclusion made Thorin laugh heartily as well.

Bilbo looked up from his own book. “I conclude that you think the story amusing?”

“It’s literally a jewel”, Thorin answered. “It’s true that stone has its own nature. It’s very often the case that it only reveals its value to someone who treats it with due reference all the time. But let’s be honest: The moral of the story is that it sometimes needs a dwarf to open a hobbit’s eyes!”

“Or that a hobbit can be as stubborn as a dwarf”, Bilbo commented playfully.

Thorin shook his head in amusement before closing the book. “Do you mind if I fetch myself another book?”

“Not at all. Would you like another recommendation, or do you find the library by yourself?”

“Don’t bother, I’ll be fine.” The dwarf rose and went back inside. He _did_ find the library without much effort. Once again he was amazed by the number of books Bilbo owned. He took some of them out of the shelf and flicked through them. At last, however, he decided for another booklet, some kind of short story. With it under his arm, he left the library.

As Thorin wandered through Bag End, he observed that the hall ways looked very much alike. Shouldn’t he have come across a corridor with some flower pots already? He turned left and entered a room he could not remember seeing before. It appeared to be a small sitting-room: there were only two comfortable-looking chairs as well as a side table with a candlestick and a bowl of dried flower petals that exhaled a faint scent.

On the other side of the room, opposite of Thorin, was a niche. There stood a clothes valet, one of the kind he knew from Erebor’s armouries. But this one was made of wood, and draped on it was a shirt of mithril … _the_ shirt of mithril.

Thorin took a step closer. Slowly he stretched his hand out and touched the mithril carefully. It felt cold under his fingers, yet it had a softness that no other metal had. It felt … familiar. Thorin remembered the moment he gave it to Bilbo very clearly …

 

_He finds it amongst piles of gold, a silver glance amidst all the gold. There is something about its sight … Something that feels like light in the darkness of his thoughts. It’s mithril. It’s incredibly valuable. It’s beyond price._

_It’s just like Bilbo’s friendship._

_Thorin feels calmer, more secure as he touches the metal. Yes, Bilbo deserves it. In fact, he deserves more than it. But there is nothing in the whole hoard that can express Thorin’s gratefulness … his affection. The mithril shirt must be sufficient._

_He knows that Bilbo opposes the fight that awaits them. The heat that holds Thorin captive with its claws intensifies at the thought. His grasp threatens to tighten on the mithril shirt, but he restrains himself. He will only treat this valuable treasure with appropriate reverence._

_But war is ahead. There is nothing to be done about that. It doesn’t matter how much Bilbo tries to appeal to his conscience. Erebor – the gold – it must be protected. At all costs. The gold – his gold –_

_His hands keep stroking the mithril shirt. War is ahead, but he won’t let Bilbo come to any harm. He will preserve him from any harm. Bilbo is the only one who understands him. The only one he can trust. The only one that makes the whispering of the gold fade …_

“Thorin? Did you really manage to get lost within Bag End?”

Bilbo’s voice brought him back into the here and now. Thorin’s heart beat fast, and his breath had quickened as well. He was still holding on to the mithril. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t in the treasuries of Erebor. Reluctantly he tore his gaze off the shirt and turned to face Bilbo. The hobbit, on the other hand, observed him, certainly recognizing the way his chest was heaving as well as his grip on the mithril. Worry stood in his dark eyes, and he had approached the dwarf, but only a few steps as if he was insecure what to do. For a horrible moment Thorin was sure fear would arise in Bilbo’s eyes – the same fear that had stood in the hobbit’s eyes in that terrible moment at the ramparts.

Thorin withdrew his hand and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry”, he said, voice still raucous. “I didn’t mean to poke about. But I took a wrong turn, and then –“ He coughed again. “I didn’t know that you kept it.”

The worries – worries, not fear, as Thorin observed with relief – vanished from Bilbo’s eyes as he tilted his head. Instead, a faint smile appeared on his face. “Why should I’ve given it away? It was a gift, a token of our friendship. You said so yourself, have you forgotten?”

Thorin was sure that he blushed to the roots of his hair. “O-of course not!”, he stammered. “Of course I remember.”

He knew that he had done terrible things under the influence of the dragon-sickness – it still filled him with remorse to think about it. Sometimes it even hunted his dreams. But even in his madness he had wanted Bilbo to be safe. He had given him the mithril shirt to make sure that Bilbo wouldn’t be harmed in the upcoming battle. He had done so much wrong under the spell of the gold, but this was the one good thing he had done. His wish to protect Bilbo had been sincere, even in the darkness of his madness. To see Bilbo safe and happy … It still was Thorin’s sincere wish.

“You found another book? Well, then let’s go back into the sunshine.” The smile stayed on Bilbo’s face, as if he knew the real reason why Thorin’s face had turned red.

And maybe … just maybe as if he appreciated this reason.


	6. Rain and Raven

“Fishing”, Bilbo explained with an air of solemnity, “is not about fish.” He made a sweeping gesture that included their surroundings from the pond in front of them to the grass on which they were sitting to the trees close by. “It’s about the whole course of events. You have to enjoy it: the sunshine, the quiet, feet in the water … Well, that with the feet works better when you’re sitting on a bridge across a river, not on the shores of a pond like we’re … But I think you know what I mean.”

“Fishing”, Thorin repeated, the amusement in his voice barely hidden, “is not about fish. Only a hobbit can say such a thing.” His gaze wandered about the sun-lit pond and the surrounding trees, a perfect example of the Shire’s beauty. “I understand what you’re saying. Many craftsmen feel the same: It’s not merely about the outcome, but about the process, about the work itself.”

“But we’re trying to avoid any work here”, Bilbo laughed. However, this example made it clear once more how different he and Thorin were. The hobbit talked about fishing, and the dwarf compared it with a craftsman’s work. He looked up into the sky, determined not to be dragged down by his thoughts. It was such a beautiful day, although the sky was speckled with thin white clouds. At least they looked fluffy as they moved across the sky, not heavy with rain.

He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sunshine on his face. They would very probably not catch a fish – they would very probably not even see one – but that didn’t matter. After all, fishing was about the whole course of events.

He stirred as he heard Thorin moving next to him. The dwarf had put his fishing rod to the side and pulled off his boots. Bilbo watched him with a grin. “Are you trying to disguise yourself as a hobbit? I’m afraid bare feet will not be sufficient for that.”

“If I am not mistaken, _you_ were the one who claimed that feet in the water are very integral to the experience of fishing. I’m just trying to make everything right, so stop sneering at me.” He shot a mock frown at Bilbo. “Besides, I don’t think that there are any fish in this pond I could disturb.” He finally cast his boots off and made his way into the water, trouser legs rolled up. He waded into the pond until the water reached almost to his knees.

Bilbo stood up as well and poked a toe into the water for testing purposes. He started back – it was _cold_!

Thorin laughed at his sight. “A pity you aren’t as resilient as dwarves, eh?”

The hobbit gritted his teeth. Oh, he would meet that challenge! Despite the cold, he ventured forward as quickly as possible. Before Thorin could react to this sudden display of hardiness, Bilbo had crossed the distance between them, had stooped down and – splashed water all over the king.

The dwarf made a sound that could almost count as a shriek – and Bilbo had no intention of disregarding that. “Resilient?”, he scoffed. “I didn’t know that a resilient dwarf like you could shriek.”

“Dwarves”, Thorin replied as gracefully as he could while tucking some wet wisps of hair behind his ear, “do not shriek.” He bent down slightly, causing Bilbo to raise his hands in defence.

“No, Thorin, don’t you dare to counterattack! Doesn’t your honour forbid such vengeful behaviour?”

“Honour!”, Thorin snorted. “You try to call upon my honour after such a sneaky attack?”

Bilbo backed off slowly, his hands still raised. “You signed me on as a _burglar_ , have you already forgotten?”

Thorin kept his eyes on the hobbit. “And how often did you claim _not_ to be a burglar? Don’t try to talk your way out of this, Bilbo. That won’t work with me.” And with that, Bilbo got splashed.

The water was still cold, and he was not willing to let Thorin get away with his assault. Bilbo was determined to take vengeance for it. The pond wasn’t very big, so there were not many options to withdraw or hide for any of them, and the whole affair turned into a giant splishing and splashing. The spring air was filled with glittering water drops and laughter. Soon Bilbo was soaked, and Thorin didn’t look any better. And yet, there was still no end in sight.

It was only a sudden roll of thunder that interrupted their banter. Bilbo looked up at the sky. It had turned cloud-covered. Now the clouds didn’t look harmless anymore, but grey and heavy with the threat of rain. He had not even recognized the freshened wind, he had been completely taken in their game. At least he was not the only one caught off-guard by what looked like a spring storm: Thorin looked astounded as well.

The first heavy raindrops hit Bilbo’s face. He glanced at Thorin, and they both hurried out of the water, grabbed the fishing rods and the rest of their belongings and looked for shelter under a tree. There they paused for a while, being breathless from their skirmish in the pond and the escape.

Suddenly Thorin started to laugh. “Why did we hurry to escape from the rain at all?”

Bilbo looked at him. His hair seemed dark and heavy with rain, his clothes were drenched, and water drops covered his face. He stared down at his own clothes – he didn’t look any better. Both of them were soaked to the skin, and still here they were, taking cover from the rain. He joined in Thorin’s laughter.

The rain got heavier, and occasional drops found their way through the canopy of leaves. It made both of them giggle again.

“You see”, Bilbo finally said, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye, “even in the Shire there can be bad weather.”

“It can’t be helped”, Thorin remarked with a shrug. They stood so close that his shoulders brushed Bilbo’s at this gesture. The hobbit couldn’t help noting how Thorin’s muscles became apparent under his wet shirt, and how the drops of water dripped off his skin. He was almost glad for the approaching thunder – it helped in obscuring the thumping of his heart.

For a while they watched the rain in silence. Bilbo wasn’t sure what made him ask the next question – maybe it was the constant drippling of water, or the rustling of the leaves in the wind, who could tell?

“May I ask you something, Thorin? I already wanted to ask you earlier, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk about it. So, if you don’t, it’s no problem at all –“

“Bilbo”, the dwarf interrupted him calmly, “just ask your question.”

“It’s about Kili. I was wondering … Wat happened to … to the elf woman? Tauriel was her name … She and Kili …” He stopped, not sure how to continue – or whether to continue at all.

Thorin did not answer, but stared thoughtfully into the rain. The silence stretched, and Bilbo’s heart sank with every passing moment. He shouldn’t have asked. It was a difficult matter, and a personal as well, so –

But finally, Thorin spoke, and Bilbo’s heart missed a beat at his answer. “Sometimes, love is complicated.” Not only a beat, but several. “There are many obstacles. It starts with the simple fact that he is a dwarf, but she is an elf.”

_You’re a dwarf, but I’m a hobbit._

“Kili can expect a long life, but she is even immortal.”

_You’re of the line of Durin the Deathless. A hobbit’s life lasts longer than a human’s, but compared to a dwarf …?_

“He is the heir of Erebor, she used to be a captain of the Woodland Realm, now an escort for people helping in the reconstruction of Dale, merchants and travellers.”

_You’re a king, and I’m … a commoner? Whatever you want to call it. I’m just a hobbit._

“Kili is bound to the mountain, Tauriel to the woods.”

_You’re bound to the mountain, I’m to the hills of the Shire._

“They differ in so many respects. It’s complicated, you see”, Thorin concluded with a shrug, his gaze still focused on the rain.

“I see”, Bilbo answered meekly. What else could he say? There were as many differences between Kili – poor lad – and his elf girl as were between himself and Thorin. It was hopeless. He had thought that quite often lately, but it had never weighed so heavily on him. Suddenly he felt how soaked he was, and it made him shiver. It was a very miserable feeling.

“But they’re trying.” Bilbo was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he almost didn’t get Thorin’s remark, spoken in a soft voice. “Against all odds, they’re trying their best”, Thorin explained. “They have their different duties, but they manage to see each other as often as possible. They stay close to each other. Maybe that’s the solution.” Thorin took his eyes off the rain and shifted a bit to look at Bilbo. “Not thinking about the differences and difficulties, but just … just trying. And enjoying. Maybe love is not that difficult at all.”

Bilbo’s heart did not only begin to beat again when he heard those words, it thumped like mad. He bit his lips. Thorin was right. Why shouldn’t it be easy? Why all the doubts and worries? It wasn’t right to choke his feelings. And when they were so strong … It could be so easy. It _was_ so easy. He just needed the little bit of courage to finally open his mouth and his heart –

Thorin looked at him, a sweet smile playing upon his lips and reaching up to lighten his blue eyes. That was the bit of courage Bilbo needed – he wanted to see this smile, this eyes, _Thorin_ every day, for the rest of his life. But he needed to say it.

 “Thorin.” Bilbo moved to face the dwarf. Thorin kept observing him, a hint of astonishment at his serious voice appearing in his eyes.

_Come on. A little bit of courage. Just a little bit._ The hobbit swallowed. He opened his mouth –

A flush of water hit his head.

Bilbo squeaked as a branch right above him bent under the weight of the heavy rain and soaked him. Water ran over his face and into his eyes. Half-blind, he dodged aside – it was an absolute miracle he did not bump into Thorin, but he left the shelter of the tree and stood in the pouring rain again. He shook his head to get rid of the last trickles – wasted effort, but at least he could see clearly again. His gaze searched for the dwarf.

Thorin had left their shelter as well, hands stretched out as if to help Bilbo, but a half amused, half incredulous grin on his face as well. Standing in the rain and looking like a drowned rat, Bilbo felt very, very miserable and not courageous at all. Not courageous in the least.

“Why don’t we return to Bag End right now?”, he suggested disheartened. “We’re both soaked to the skin, and a walk in the rain can’t make it worse.”

 

________________________________

 

The rain didn’t make it worse, but not even the sight of Bag End’s green door and the promise of warmth and a cup of hot tea could lift Bilbo’s spirits. They were already awaited by a visitor at whose sight Bilbo got an uneasy feeling. On a fencepost, there sat a raven. Its black feathering shone with moisture, and if the hobbit had ever imagined a bird that looked indignant, this one did.

“I guess it delivers a message for me”, Thorin remarked as they approached they raven. “Go on ahead, I’ll talk to it and catch up with you.”

Bilbo blinked at the raven. “You’re sure about this?”

“It won’t take long. Besides: I’m already completely soaked, so it can’t get worse.” He gave the hobbit a short smile.

Bilbo went ahead. He grabbed a towel in passing to dry himself carelessly. It felt rather awkward as he moved through Bag End in his wet clothes, but his first priority was to kindle the fire place. And to put the kettle on. He definitely needed a warm fire and a cup of tea first.

He sighed as he squatted in front of the fire place and stretched his hands out to the first tongues of fire. He couldn’t help it, he still felt miserable. That damned torrent! It had ruined everything! It would have been hard enough to tell Thorin of his affection in the first place, but it would have been impossible while being sopping wet! After all, he was facing _Thorin_ – a king who still looked breathtakingly handsome when he was wet all over, and Bilbo himself had looked like a drowned rat! It just wasn’t fair!

He still pondered about that dratted coincidence when he heard Thorin enter the room. Bilbo looked across his shoulder, but there was something in Thorin’s eyes that made him rise at once. The raven hadn’t delivered good news.

Thorin looked at him for a moment, lost in thought. His voice was level as he finally said: “I’m afraid that today was the last day of my stay with you, Bilbo.”

The hobbit got a queasy feeling. He wanted to ask something – why? _why?_ – but he didn’t trust his own voice and waited for Thorin to continue.

“The raven told me that the first settlers have left the Ered Luin. They await me at the road to Bree to accompany … actually, to lead them to Erebor. I have to leave tomorrow to meet with them.”

He didn’t know how he managed it, but Bilbo forced a smile on his face as he handed Thorin a towel. The dwarf took it, but made no effort to dry even his hands. “That sounds like a glorious homecoming – the exiled, led home by their king.” He had to keep saying vanities. Vanities, yes. He could not bring himself to say what he felt. Besides, he had to distract himself from what Thorin’s words actually signified.

“I bet they are already awaiting you in Erebor.”

_I’m already missing you._

Thorin gave him a faint smile. Of course he smiled. Erebor was his home. He had to return there. He belonged there.

“Who will be happier about your return? Fili and Kili because they are finally freed of their duties as your representatives, or Balin because he only has to struggle with one stubborn dwarf of the line of Durin?”

_I’d be happy to stay with you._

The faint smile was still on the dwarf’s face. Of course. He would return to his kin and friends. To people who loved him.

“When”, he could hardly ask, “when do you have to leave?”

Thorin hesitated. “Early in the morning”, he finally said. “The dwarves of the Ered Luin are already on their way, and I … I shouldn’t miss them.”

“Sounds like a strenuous day. You know what? I will bid you farewell with a good, hearty breakfast. I guess you will need it.”

_I don’t want to bid you farewell. Never again._

Thorin indicated a bow. “That’s very generous of you, Bilbo.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

_Why is it the only thing I can do?_

Bilbo coughed slightly. “There’s a kettle with hot tea in the kitchen, please help yourself. If you would excuse me? I’ll freeze myself to death in these damp clothes.” He felt a sting in his eyes as he turned to leave the room. He had to leave – he was not sure if he could keep this calm demeanour just a moment longer.

“Bilbo?” Thorin’s voice called him back. The hobbit blinked, took a reassuring breath and turned once again. The dwarf watched him. His blue eyes reflected the glow of the fire place. It send a golden shine over his face and softened its lines, but its expression was uninterpretable. His voice was smooth, it made Bilbo blink hastily to stop any tears from welling up.

“We will see each other in the morning.” A smile appeared on Thorin’s face while uttering these words. It was somewhat different from the smile he had shown when talking about Erebor and his kin, but Bilbo felt too agitated to ponder about the differences now. He just wanted to get away from here. Therefore he only nodded and left Thorin standing in front of the fire place.


	7. Belonging

Bilbo sat on the edge of his bed for an indefinite time, staring vacantly into space. He could not even pick himself up to get rid of his soaked clothes; he still wore them when night had fallen and his bedroom lay in complete darkness. He could not remember how much time had elapsed. He could not remember falling asleep either, although he felt like trapped in a nightmare. He found himself tossing and turning in bed, not being able to find rest.

Bilbo felt cold. His damp clothes stuck to his skin and made him shiver. He pulled the blanket over his head. _If you sleep fitfully, you have an excuse not to get up in the morning. You can avoid saying good bye to Thorin._ The thought only added to his restlessness, and he pulled the blanket tighter around himself. It didn’t help to ease the cold.

But at some time between sleeping and waking, the cold did actually cease. It made way for a gradually rising heat. It started out a quite pleasant feeling, but turned into something more intense, almost feverish. Bilbo realized it out of things as if he observed the condition of a stranger.

His thoughts seemed to be a stranger’s as well: Thoughts about adventures and home-comings, smithies and ponds, hobbits and … and dwarves … The last unconscious thought led to the illusion of Thorin standing at his bedside, looking down at him. Bilbo could not perceive if he said or did anything. The only thing he was aware of was the blue of Thorin’s eyes – it seemed to come closer, but there was something about it that made Bilbo feel dizzy, so he closed his own eyes. Something soft touched his forehead, and the heat blazed up again, even stronger than before. His whole face seemed to heat up –

Bilbo squinted. The sun was shining right into his face – he had not cared to shut the curtains yesterday. He tossed in bed to get his face out of the sun – it felt hot enough without it. He grimaced as the movement gave him a headache.

 _Wait. Why is the sun already shining? What time is it?_ He sat up with a jerk, trying to ignore the dizziness. The light still hurt in his eyes, but he stared out of the window. The sun was already high up in the sky. _Thorin wanted to leave in the early morning. Did I oversleep? Is he – Is he gone?_

Bilbo scrambled out of bed. His clothes were totally rumpled, and he avoided taking a look into the mirror. Instead, he staggered out of his bedroom.

“Thorin?”, he croaked. No answer. He called out again, but there was only silence. He wandered around Bag End aimlessly, looking and listening for any sign of the dwarf. There came none.

Finally he reached the entrance hall. His eyes fell upon the clothes peg. Thorin’s cloak used to hang there.

It was gone.

Bilbo looked at the empty peg, not able to fully understand. The dizziness got stronger, and he had to support himself on the wall. The cloak was gone. _Thorin_ was gone. He was already on his way to meet with the dwarves from the Ered Luin, already on his way back home. Bilbo had overslept and missed his chance to see him one last time. He would not see his dwarf again. He felt strangely hollow at the thought.

“No”, he murmured ultimately. “No, no, no!” That couldn’t be. Thorin couldn’t be just gone. Not if he could help it. Bilbo straightened himself. He wouldn’t allow it to end like this. He would catch up with Thorin and tell him what he should have told him a long time ago. _Just trying and enjoying_ , he remembered the dwarf’s words from yesterday. _Just trying. I_ will _try._

With a resolute nod, Bilbo dashed out of the door to catch up with a dwarf – just as he had done two years before. The last time he had only forgotten his handkerchief. This time Bilbo did not even wear his jacket. His clothes were rumpled, his hair tangled, his eyes fever-bright, and his run was more of a stagger. But he kept on moving.

Bilbo breathed heavily as he dashed to the track he had shown Thorin on their walk, the same he had run down two years ago. Everything in front of him became blurry for a moment, but he shook it off and kept going. He felt a stitch in his side, and his head throbbed with every step he took, but he smiled nonetheless. What he was doing felt right. _Trying and enjoying_ , he remembered himself and dashed down the hill.

Suddenly, something was wrong. Very wrong. His clouded mind took a moment to observe what it was: The sky was supposed to be above, and the grass to be below – not the other way round. Had he fallen? Bilbo could not remember stumbling, nor did he feel any impact. The whole world had turned to confusion in the twinkling of an eye. And it did not go back to normal, but turned into darkness.

But even in darkness, there was no standstill. It deemed Bilbo only a short moment until the world began to move again. This time, it was not an erratic stagger, but a regular movement, a steady up and down, up and down, up and down … His head seemed to glow and he felt a cold shiver down his spine at the same moment, but there was also something that made him feel as if he were lying comfortably in his bed. Maybe he was in his bed and had just been dreaming things? He snuggled down in his warm blankets with a deep sigh.

“Bilbo?”

The deep voice cleared the thick fog that surrounded Bilbo in a few places. He would never mistake it.

“Thorin?”, he murmured and opened his eyes as wide as he could manage in his harassed condition. To his astonishment he figured out that he wasn’t in his bed. Instead, he was pressed against Thorin’s back, his arms wrapped around his neck, his heated face buried in the dark locks. The dwarf was giving him a piggyback ride – therefore the constant up and down. Bilbo felt too exhausted to ask how it had come to this. _He’s here_ , he mused. _Thorin’s still here._ The thought made him smile. He nestled up to the broad back again, breathing in the scent of the locks.

“Yes, Bilbo, it’s me.” Thorin sounded strained, as if he were trying to contain himself. Was he angry? He didn’t sound happy, for sure. In contrast, his words were meant to calm the hobbit, and his voice had a soft touch as he spoke. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you home.”

The word rang a bell in Bilbo’s confused mind. Home? “Bag End?”, he made sure.

Thorin huffed. “Well, of course Bag End.”

Bilbo thought about it for a moment. The steady up and down was sleep-soothing, as well as the warmth of Thorin’s body, and the feeling of his hair beneath his cheek. “Why?”

“Why!”, the dwarf exclaimed, and now Bilbo could clearly hear his suppressed anger. “We’re going there so you can recover. And when you’re feeling better, I hope you can explain to me what got into you to race about the Shire in your condition.”

Bilbo closed his eyes again, revelling in the closeness to Thorin. _You_ , he thought – or did he say it aloud? It was hard to tell such subtle differences with that permanent throbbing in his head. _I thought you were gone._ The darkness closed in upon him once more. _But you’re still here._ This time Bilbo knew that the world did not feel like a confusion, but as it should be.

 

________________________________

 

A soft pillow, cosy sheets and a blanket pulled up to his chin – this time Bilbo had no doubt that he was in his bed. But to make sure that his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him again, he reluctantly opened his eyes. Yes, he definitely was in his bedroom. And he was ill. His head felt as if it had been put on the anvil, and his mouth was dry as dust. He raised his hand to check his face. It still felt feverish, but not as heated as it did when he had run out of Bag End to –

_To catch up with Thorin._

The memories came back at once. Had Thorin really carried him back to Bag End? But Thorin had been gone … Bilbo took a quick glance around the room. It was empty, and his heart sank. Maybe it had been just a dream and he had really overslept, and Thorin was gone. How could the dwarf have found him when he was already on his way back to Erebor?

But then he saw a chair at the bedside. Usually it stood in one of the sitting-rooms, and he was sure that he had not put it there. Maybe …

 _No. No ‘maybe’ this time._ Bilbo sat up in his bed. The dizziness made itself felt, but he was determined not to waste any more time. _No waiting and hoping, Bilbo Baggins. Get on your feet and do something._ He closed his eyes to take a deep breath and fight back the throb in his head. But it only lasted a moment. He had to get up!

When he looked up again, Thorin stood in the room. The dwarf surveyed him with mild surprise. He carried a bowl in his hands, and some cloths hang from his lower arm.

Bilbo wanted to say something, but fell into a fit of coughing that brought tears into his eyes and worsened his headache. Through the ache, he felt a steadying hand on his back, and when the worst coughing was over Thorin had a jar of water ready for him. Bilbo accepted it gladly and carefully took some sips. The broad hand rested on his back all the while, offering him comfort.

When he was sure that he would utter more than a pathetic croak, Bilbo began: “I thought you were gone.” His voice sounded hoarse.

Thorin had knelt at the bedside, but at these words, he withdrew his hand, and his body stiffened. In a controlled manner, he sat down on the chair. His fingers tensed on the armrest, and the concern on his face disappeared and left it darkened. He looked as if he was sitting on his throne, and Bilbo could imagine that he actually sat in such a posture on the throne of Erebor – probably with a very annoying, outrageous supplicant in front of him. “Do you take me for so low that I would leave you in such a condition?”

Bilbo was surprised – the dwarf did not sound angry, but aggrieved as if he had accused him of some terrible crime. “B-but your kin – they are waiting for you –“

“Spare me!”, Thorin burst out. His muscles tensed as if he were about to leap up. “They will understand that I can’t leave you when you’re ill. They will be fine.”

“Your cloak – it was gone. I was sure you were gone”, Bilbo brought out sheepishly, overwhelmed with the dwarf’s sudden rage. What had gotten into him?

“I was – but only for a short time.” Thorin bit his lips to restrain himself from getting louder. “You didn’t get up in the morning, so I checked on you. You were running a fever, but I don’t know which medicine you hobbits use in such a case, if you have any or where you keep it – you have just too many store rooms. That’s why I went to ask one of your neighbours for help. I was reluctant to leave you and I returned as fast as possible, but you were already gone.” His scowl got even darker. “What were you thinking? You are febrile, Bilbo, and yet you decide to run through the Shire like a lunatic!”

Suddenly, the anger on his face disappeared, and Thorin looked at him with such anxiety that Bilbo had to cast down his eyes. “What were you thinking?”, Thorin repeated, his voice now tight with concern. “It was a lucky coincidence that someone saw you running down the track. Otherwise it could have taken me ages to find you. I don’t dare to think what could have happened.”

Bilbo twisted the sheet between his fingers. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I –“ He swallowed before facing Thorin again. The dwarf still looked so worried, it caused him shame. “I supposed you to be gone and I desperately wanted to catch up with you and tell you – to ask you –“ He gulped once more as his whole face heated. “I wanted – I mean, I still want –“ Couldn’t he even frame one single sentence? “Take me with you to Erebor.”

The dwarf looked at him in surprise. “You want to go to Erebor?”

“In fact, I want to stay there.” Bilbo continued to twist the sheet between his fingers. “Well, you know, it’s … It’s a bit complicated. I mean, Bag End is very important to me – it will always be – but things have changed. _I_ have changed. I don’t feel whole here anymore. That’s why I want to return to Erebor.” After a moment of hesitation, he added faintly: “With you.”

Thorin did not answer at first. “I had no idea”, he said thoughtfully. “No, that’s not quite right – I had no idea until a few hours ago. But when I came to check on you, I saw the acorn on your night table.” There was no need to clarify which acorn he meant. It was placed in a small padded chest on the night table, and both of them knew very well what that little acorn meant. “I was sure you would have already planted it. I was even wondering where in your garden it would be.”

The hobbit did not look up. “I tried to plant it. Very often, to be honest. But I couldn’t bring myself to plant it in the garden. It … it didn’t feel right. Planting it here when I don’t feel quite at home. I just couldn’t do it.”

“I thought that something was wrong when I saw the acorn. But Bilbo, I honestly had no idea until that moment. You seemed so proud when you showed me the village, and your garden, your home … I mean, you seemed so happy to me during the last days …” Thorin’s voice trailed off.

“Of course I was happy. You were with me.”

It was out. Finally. Well, at least a part of it. He had finally opened his mouth, and what he had said … it was rather obvious, wasn’t it? What he felt for Thorin. He couldn’t misinterpret it … could he?

Bilbo suddenly felt very dizzy and tired. He sank back into his pillows and shut his eyes. He didn’t dare to look how Thorin would react to this confession. What if Bilbo had built his hopes up too high? If Thorin did not feel the same and only considered them friends? Bilbo’s heart beat so fast, he could hardly hear himself think.

But there was a sound that pierced through the noise of his heart hammering against his chest: Some strange rustling … It took him some moments to recognise the origin: Thorin rose. He got out of his chair.

Bilbo had a lump in his throat. That could only mean one thing: Thorin rose to go away. He hadn’t left when his friend was ill, but he would leave now. Because he was unable – unwilling? – to return Bilbo’s feelings. The hobbit kept his eyes closed. He didn’t want to know in which way Thorin was looking down on him. Pitifully? Coldly? Disgustedly? It didn’t matter, for he would turn his back on Bilbo, and the sound of his footsteps would fade away …

However, Bilbo did not hear any fading noises. Instead, he felt the mattress sink in a bit. Something warm pressed slightly against his side, and something tickled his face. He opened his eyes in surprise and found Thorin sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, bending his head down to look at Bilbo. One of his hands rested alongside the pillow for support. Some strands of his long hair enclosed the hobbit’s face and brushed against his cheeks. Their faces had never been that close before. Thorin’s eyes seemed to beam, and Bilbo’s heart missed a beat as he discovered the fondness in them.

“Does this mean”, Thorin said, and his voice was warm with affection, “that you want to stay with me at Erebor?” He sounded as if he couldn’t believe it.

Bilbo stretched out a shaky hand to catch one of the strands, feeling its softness on his palm. “The Shire, Erebor, or the unknown lands of the east …” He could hardly speak and had to swallow before he was able to continue. “I don’t care where I am as long as I am with you.”

The fond smile on Thorin’s face deepened as he brought it even closer to Bilbo’s. He could see the fine lines around his eyes, and Thorin’s breath brushed his face. They were only a breath of air apart. Bilbo lifted his head to bridge even this short distance and kissed Thorin.

At once a dizziness and a heat rose in his body that had nothing to do with the fever. It was pleasant, breath-taking, beyond comparison. He had believed it to be wonderful, of course, and he had been daydreaming about how Thorin’s lips would taste. But he had never imagined the touching of lips to be so intimate. It stirred his blood, made his heart race, and he felt dizzy with happiness. And yet they kissed with utmost care as if the other’s lips were made of glass and they were afraid to harm each other … But Bilbo, at first strained, eased under Thorin’s endearments; the dwarf gently ran a hand through his curls and caressed his cheek. He reached for Thorin’s face. The beard didn’t feel scratchy under his fingers at all, but soft as if it was meant to be stroked. His hand wandered higher, grazed Thorin’s temples, moved further on and gently touched the scar on his forehead. The dwarf did not flinch, so Bilbo stroke it tenderly, promising to himself that he would tell Thorin every day how glad he was that he was with him.

Thorin’s hand moved through Bilbo’s curls again, brushing against the point of his ear. Bilbo could not suppress a giggle – his ears were ticklish! – and caused Thorin to giggle in turn. Thus they parted, but not more than a hand’s breadth. They looked at each other breathlessly, and Bilbo once more marvelled at Thorin’s eyes. They had always deemed him captivating, but now they were so close he could lose himself in their depths. And they were full of affection and sweet promises. Sweet promises he would hear every day from now on …

Bilbo put a finger on Thorin’s lips to prevent him from speaking. “Please, don’t.” He had only uttered these words as he realized how cruel they must sound. He could already see that he had hurt Thorin with his inconsiderate remark; a hint of sorrow welled up in the blue eyes. Hastily he explained: “Just let me tell you something first.” He cupped the dwarf’s face between his hands and gave him a beatific smile. “Thorin, I love you.” Bilbo felt incredibly happy as he said these words, and he felt even happier as he could see the joy in Thorin’s face. “It took me so long to acknowledge it. I thought I could be happy back in the Shire, but I want to be with you. Dear me, I missed you so much. I don’t want to be parted from you ever again.”

He wanted to withdraw his hands, but Thorin caught one hand between his and led it to his lips to kiss the knuckles tenderly. “I’m afraid we were both oblivious. I longed for you as well, but I thought that it would be selfish and cruel to ask you to leave the Shire and come with me.” He suddenly blushed. “I mean, I’m sorry that you don’t feel fully at home here anymore, but if that means that you – that we – at Erebor – or wherever we want –“ He coughed slightly. Then, the smile appeared on his face again. “I love you, Bilbo.” He bent down and kissed him.

This time, both of them were more daring. The pressure of Thorin’s lips on his was still gentle, but yet more demanding, and Bilbo’s answer wasn’t timid. Grabbing a handful of the dwarf’s shirt, he leaned towards him, pressing their bodies against each other. He could feel Thorin’s heart beating as fast as his own. Thorin’s horn-ridged hands cupped Bilbo’s face, his thumbs stroking his cheeks and slowly moving to the soft skin of his neck. Bilbo felt a thrill of pleasure as he opened his lips slightly. He could not suppress a moan as he buried his hands in Thorin’s hair, pulling him closer to him.

With a gasp, Thorin broke away from their entwined embrace. He looked at Bilbo breathlessly, and the hobbit, not less out of breath, suddenly felt abashed.

“I’m sorry”, he stammered. “I didn’t want to seem rash, or to persuade you into doing something you do not want –“

“Hush, don’t be a silly.” Thorin kissed him gently on the forehead. It was in this moment that Bilbo remembered the dwarf standing at his bedside, his blue eyes coming closer, and a sudden flash of heat. He had dismissed it as a feverish dream – but it had been real. The insight made him smile.“I would love to continue with our … exchange of caresses. In fact, I long for you eagerly.” Thorin’s voice was deep and velvet, full of promises that made Bilbo shiver. “But you’re still feverish, my love, and need rest. I’m afraid I’ll have to put my needs aside.”

“What about my needs?”, Bilbo pouted in mock protest. “That’s not fair – do you really think I could sleep after such excitement? That you caused, by the way.”

“I confess my guilt”, Thorin laughed. “And that’s why I have to make up for putting you into this state of excitement.”

Bilbo smiled at him fondly. “You’re going to be quite protective, aren’t you?”

“I’ll try to be reasonable”, the dwarf answered as he took Bilbo’s hand in his and their fingers intertwined. “And I’ll stay with you until you’re asleep.”

“And what about waking up?”, Bilbo asked, feeling a pang of fear that he could be dreaming again. But no, that was not possible – no dream could be as joyful as what he had just felt. “Will you be there when I wake up?”

Thorin smiled softly and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I will be there when you wake up. Every day”, he promised.

 

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Thorin kept his promise.

They had nestled up to each other in the bed, revelling in the closeness and warmth of their embrace. Thorin had enfolded Bilbo in his arms and, while running his fingers through the hobbit’s curls, had whispered oaths of love into his ears. Sometimes he had fallen into Khuzdul, but his voice had been so tenderly that Bilbo had little doubt about their meaning. He had leant against Thorin’s broad chest, listening to the soft whispers and the constant beat of his heart until he had fallen asleep with a smile on his face.

When he awoke, it was already dark – he had slept the day away. Well, it was only comprehensible that he had not left his bed during all these hours. He had hardly slept the night before – but Thorin had. And he had been sick – but Thorin hadn’t been.

 

And still the dwarf had not left him during all these hours. They had shifted their positions a bit, but Bilbo’s head still rested on Thorin’s chest, the dwarf’s chin in turn rested on his head, and Thorin’s arms lay on his hips as if to draw him closer at any time.

“Did you have sweet dreams, my love?”, Thorin asked as he realized that Bilbo was awake.

“I guess”, he answered while snuggling up to him, “although I prefer staying awake in your arms. Did you really stay with me all the time I was asleep?”

“I promised to be with you when you wake up, didn’t I?”

“You’re really persistent. Staying here with me without even being tired … I wouldn’t have minded if you had stood up to stretch a bit, you know?”

“Trust me, Bilbo”, Thorin said, putting a finger under Bilbo’s chin and softly tilting it so that they looked into each other’s eyes, “I am right where I belong.”

“And so I am”, Bilbo answered beaming with joy as he snatched a kiss from Thorin. “So am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That almost sounds like an ending, doesn't it? But the epilogue is still waiting for you ;)


	8. Epilogue: Deep Roots

“Do you really think that this is the right place?” Thorin looked down on Bilbo doubtingly.

“I told you that it is. And more than once.” The hobbit surveyed the king’s face quizzically. “Why are you so nervous all of a sudden? We’ve talked about it more than enough.”

The dwarf coughed slightly. “You see, I don’t know much about stuff like that …”

“Stuff like that!”, Bilbo repeated with a merry laugh. “Thorin, this is gardening! It’s not some kind of strange magic.” His voice softened. “Everything will be alright, sweetheart. Trust me.” He chuckled as he saw that Thorin blushed at his words. He still wasn’t used to be called sweetheart. He loved this term of endearment, he had asserted Bilbo, but he had not had one since he had been a dwarfling. As a leader and king, he had been praised for tactics or prudent decisions. But no one had ever told him that he had a sweet heart – only Bilbo. Now the hobbit was determined to tell him as often as possible – and he could not deny that he loved making Thorin blush. He was just too endearing.

They were standing on what had been a giant rock overhang on the steep mountainside of Erebor. It might have been been a simple rock overhang, raw and plain a long time ago, but craftsmen had turned it into a breath-taking mixture of an overlook, a terrace, and an actual garden. This jewel on the mountain side was connected to a few chambers high above the valley ground. The greater part of the dwarven kingdom stretched into the deeps beneath the mountain, but there were also some outlooks, aeries and raven-nests, and some chambers which belonged to the king.

_They were probably used as some kind of weekend cottage_ , Bilbo thought, _when Thorin and his family wanted to get away from all the king’s business for a couple of hours. And now, they are Thorin’s chambers again._ He smiled. _Ours._

It still felt strange. Bilbo avoided thinking of all these rooms as royal chambers because it meant that _he_ stayed in royal chambers as well. But that thought was just too absurd! He had moved to Thorin’s chambers, and now they were their chambers. That simple. Nothing royal about that.

It was one of these special chambers high up in the mountain that Thorin had ordered to be cleaned up and made not only habitable, but comfortable. Bilbo still suspected him that he had given this orders via a raven before they had even reached the borders of the Shire. Bilbo thought back to this journey to Erebor very fondly: It had been only him and Thorin. They had been able to journey at their own speed for they had not even been bothered with any bulky baggage. The few possessions Bilbo had wanted to keep – mostly books, personal mementos, and, of course, his armchair – were taken by one of the treks from the Ered Luin to Erebor. In fact, he and Thorin had rather lingered. They had taken their time to explore the beauties of the nature, to tell each other stories under the night sky, to simply enjoy their freedom and closeness. Some of the memories made Bilbo blush right up to the ears, and his heart beat faster with joy.

 

________________________________

 

_It is only late afternoon and they could still go on, but they decide to stop and set up camp already. It is just too tempting. Both of them know the reason for the early halt as they sit next to each other in the grass, sheltered by some trees, and look over the plain. In front of them, seemingly very close, rises a giant, impressive rock formation._

_It is the Carrock._

_“You know”, Thorin says quietly as their hands intertwine, “our first meeting may have been on April 26 th, but I feel like it was here that I saw you for the first time truly.”_

_Bilbo squeezes his hand, but replies nothing. However, he thinks that Thorin is right: The morning on the Carrock was like a new phase, maybe even a new beginning. Everything felt different from that moment on._

_“I was sure”, Thorin continues, “that I had been wrong concerning you. But in retrospect, I must confess that I was wrong on that day as well.”_

_The hobbit blinks at him in confusion. For a moment he is tempted to ask if Thorin is going to spoil a beautiful memory, but he pulls himself together. He is already used to the wordy comments the dwarf sometimes utters, and relaxes. Until now, Thorin has always managed to get to the heart of something. And when he talks in this smooth voice, it’s usually a very nice heart._

_“Back then, I thought you had shown that you could actually survive in the wild. But you did not only survive, you saved our company more than once. You saved me.”_

_Bilbo cannot help flushing. Besides, it’s not very helpful that Thorin starts to caress his hand, moving his thumb in circles over his skin._

_“I thought that you wouldn’t be a burden anymore, but I soon found out that watching you, seeing your smile or feeling you close by lessened the burden I carried on my shoulders.”_

_Bilbo colours up to his ears, he is sure. He should probably reproach Thorin mildly for talking such romantic nonsense, but he can’t bring himself to do that. Truth be told, he loves to hear such sweet talk. He has longed for it so long … So instead of interrupting the dwarf’s talk, he leans against him, his head coming to a rest on Thorin’s shoulder. Thorin turns to him, and his breath brushes Bilbo’s curls as he speaks on._

_“I thought that you would now find a place amongst us, and I’ve been wrong again. You did not only find a place amongst the company. You found a place at my side … and in my heart.” Softly, Thorin adds: “I’m glad that I was mistaken on the Carrock. If I weren’t … I would feel very lonely now.”_

_Bilbo’s heart throbs like mad, as if his chest has gotten too small for it and it wants to break out. His feelings threaten to overwhelm him suddenly. He wants to tell Thorin that he is happy as well and that he will stay with him forever and that he will never have to feel lonely again. His lips move, but not a single syllable manages to pass them. So instead of speaking, he raises his head and takes Thorin’s face between his trembling hands. He looks into his eyes, and then he draws him into a kiss._

_It becomes fervently, almost desperately as Bilbo tries to put all the emotions that swirl around inside of him in that one touch. At least, this uproar lessens a bit and makes place for a warm, sweet tingle inside his belly. Feeling this new warm spreading inside of him, he draws Thorin closer. Thorin answers his kiss passionately. His broad hands grasp the hobbit’s hips, and he pulls Bilbo onto his lap. His hands move slowly up and down Bilbo’s side, and suddenly … suddenly he feels Thorin’s palms on the bare skin of his back._

_Their fervent kiss is interrupted as Bilbo draws in a shaky breath. The moving of hands on his back stops as well. They don’t withdraw. Just a stop. He shivers with excitement, but … Is there also a pang of tension? He is used to the little touches, lips brushing against his, a hand stroking his cheek, gentle fingers tucking a curl behind his ears. And he is used to falling asleep and waking up in Thorin’s embrace. But they have not been that … that intimate, and it feels different. Thrilling and wonderful, but –_

_Bilbo looks into Thorin’s eyes, and all “buts” disappear. How could there be any doubt left? These eyes are comfort, assurance, trust … They are love._

_With a smile on his lips, Bilbo bends forward and whispers: “I love you.” He kisses Thorin again, at the same time reaching for the lacing of the dwarf’s shirt, adoring the feeling of the skin underneath._

_Their embrace gets closer as both of them have imagined almost two years ago, standing on top of the Carrock. But this embrace doesn’t feel like the conclusion of what has begun up there. It feels like a step on their way – one of many breath-taking that will follow._

 

________________________________

 

When they had arrived at Erebor, the chambers high up in the mountain had already been prepared, and they were just beautiful. Carved out of the dark green stone, decorated with intricate carvings, and equipped with furniture in bright colours … Thorin had been rather anxious if it would be to Bilbo’s taste, but his worries had been in vain. Bilbo absolutely adored their home.

Bilbo wandered around on the level underground of the terrace. A staircase led from their rooms directly to it, and entering the platform was like entering a totally different world. The many years of neglect had been cleared away: the marble railing was fully intact and shining in the sunlight, the mosaicked floor was complete as well, and the patches were filled with soil from the vale below.

“It was my mother’s idea to plant a bit green up here”, Thorin remarked who had observed Bilbo’s gaze. “She was fond of flowers, bushed, trees – well, everything green, and she was a rather skilled gardener for a dwarf.”

The hobbit believed that it was really possible that flowers should grow in such a remote place. It was high up in the mountain, but the sun shone down on the terrace friendly, and it was sheltered from the wind … Yes, there could definitely grow something nice.

“It’s the perfect place”, Bilbo assured once more and turned to Thorin. “Now would you do me the honour?” He stretched out his hands to the dwarf. A little box rested on his palms, and Thorin opened it carefully. The hobbit tried to keep a serious face – Thorin even seemed to hold his breath as he took the acorn out of its box. But he did not put it into the soil as he thought.

Instead, Thorin put the acorn on Bilbo’s palm and closed the hobbit’s fingers around it. Then he took Bilbo’s hand with the acorn in his own. “Let’s do this together, shall we?”

Together, they knelt on the ground and put the acorn in the hole they had prepared. Slowly, almost reluctantly, they withdrew their hands and covered the acorn with soil. It was quickly done – such a little act! But it was so important to Bilbo – and to Thorin as well, as he could tell from the dwarf’s beaming face.

“It’s done”, he finally said, looking up at Thorin.

“How did it feel to you?”, the dwarf asked calmly. His eyes were clouded by a spark of worry – he remembered that Bilbo had not been able to plant the acorn in Bag End because it hadn’t felt right to him. Because he hadn’t felt whole there any more.

“Perfect.” Bilbo raised his head to kiss Thorin and made the little spark go away. It was replaced by that fond expression he loved so much, he could tell without looking – but he did look, of course. He would always look. “Just as it should be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends my contribution to the Unexpected Anniversary 2016! I hope you enjoyed the daily updates and the story itself as much as I enjoyed the writing. If you have any questions, remarks, whatever, please don't hesitate to tell me :)


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